One Chance
by VegetaCold
Summary: Clockwork doesn't save Danny's family as the Nasty Burger explodes, and in the aftermath Danny is left to live with Vlad. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

Danny Fenton could not pinpoint the exact moment his life ended. It was lost in his mind, jumbled amongst the events of the days leading up to that moment. And he could not tell whether any of the shards of his past life could be fit back together, as his new guardian liked to believe and insisted endlessly.

He could not remember when the idea of cheating on the most important test of his high school career dawned on him, or how it seemed to be the answer to everything, his life. He didn't know if his life had ended then, or perhaps when he'd told Tucker and Sam, after they'd urged him to return the answer booklet, that he would cheat. Perhaps it had been as he'd opened the envelope, tearing the seal. He did not know.

He did not know when exactly his life, _their_ lives, began to end slowly, when the destruction began to come. What had caused him to succumb to his own weakness and evil and let his family and friends fall with a bricked structure that had once served food. What had caused the death of his mother and father, his sister, Jazz, Tucker, Sam, Mr. Lancer, he did not know.

But he knew, more clearly than ever, that it was his fault.

He could blame it on Clockwork -he had tried- but in the end, the truth did not elude him. Clockwork had, perhaps, allowed him to attempt to save his family without any assistance, and had, perhaps, allowed them to die, but Danny knew that he could not hold him accountable. His family was tied to the Nasty Burger as it detonated because of his own actions. Clockwork had not made him do this thing he could not name, and, in reality, it was not his responsibility to look after him. Why should he have expected that of Clockwork?

Danny could try, but he knew. There was no escaping the blame, nor the guilt. It was dense, bottomless.

Danny didn't know how long he had been sitting in the darkness of his small bedroom at Fenton Works. When they'd found him lying on the ground near the flaming rubble of the Nasty Burger, the paramedics had examined him then brought him to his home. A social worker whose name he could not remember had told him to pack his belongings. His new guardian would come by in the morning to get him. He was sorry he couldn't get here earlier, but he'd had to take a plane, which of course had been delayed, she'd told him. After this, she reassured him in a monotone voice, which held no compassion –Danny assumed she hated her job as a social worker and only did it because she needed money-, that everything would be alright, and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.

But, of course, lying here in this dark bedroom, his mind reeling and his stomach churning, he could not.

Danny, after hearing who would be granted custody of him, had become sick with fear. Danny was so emotionally weak, so drained, and he knew good and well that his archenemy would be glad to see him in such a state. To him, there was no other explanation as to why his rival would have opted to take him in now that he had no one –he wanted to see him so broken. But that was Vlad Masters, of course; Danny knew how sick and malevolent he was, and he could only imagine what Vlad would do to him once he had him in his grasp. And Danny would have protested this decision, but he knew he had nowhere else to go. There were no relatives that he could remember, and even if there were, he doubted if they would want him if they knew it was his fault.

Danny had not yet heard from Vlad, for which he was glad, but he knew that it wouldn't be long. His cellphone had been ringing and vibrating continuously since news of the accident had begun airing on the local television station. Many of the numbers were the kids' he knew at school, but some he didn't even recognize. He felt the irony of this sting him –only now that he'd lost his family and his best friends did he become popular. That was what it took.

Paulina and Valerie had both called and sent several text messages, but he had not responded to either of them. He had had himself convinced that he loved them both, and normally, he would have been overjoyed to have received a text or phone call from either, but now it didn't matter to him in the least. Now, all he wanted was to see Sam's number appear on the screen as his phone rang. All he wanted was to hear her voice, have her make him laugh. He felt that he had not even begun to miss her, and the others.

The phone would not stop ringing, and Danny's head was pounding agonizingly. He reached over and clutched it tightly in his fist, almost crushing it. He meant to turn it off, but when he saw who was calling now, his fingers froze. Vlad's name and number appeared on the screen the moment he reached for it. He stared for a small moment, eyes wide.

Finally, he sighed and pushed the 'talk' button and pressed the phone to his ear.

"_Daniel?"_ came Vlad's voice_._

Danny was silent so long that Vlad spoke again. _"Daniel, are you there?"_

Danny closed his eyes in the darkness. "Yeah."

Vlad elapsed into a brief, awkward silence on the other end of the phone. Danny, wanting nothing more than to hang up and go to sleep, sighed loudly and irritably.

"What do you want, Vlad?" he snapped.

He heard Vlad sigh softly. _"I just wanted to call to let you know I'll be by tomorrow morning to get you. Around ten or eleven."_

"Where are you now?" Danny asked slowly.

"_At the airport. I have to get on another flight," _Vlad said, and Danny could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"So, you probably won't be getting much sleep then?" Danny said, chuckling bitterly. "Hey, neither will I."

Vlad sighed again. _"Danny, that social worker you talked to, she gave you some pills, correct?"_

"Yeah."

"_Those will put you to sleep. I want you to take two of them."_

"Look, Vlad. Just because you have custody of me or whatever doesn't mean you can order me around."

"_Danny, I'm only trying to help you-"_

"And that's another thing. You have no right to act like you know what's best for me."

"_Danny please-"_

"I hope you don't think you can replace my dad, or something. I'm sure you're overjoyed that he's gone and now you can have me all to yourself, but if you think I'm going to go with you and be your good little son, you've got another thing coming."

"_Danny please, listen to me. You don't understand how sorry I am that they're gone. I know you may think I'm glad for his death, but, Danny, it's not true. You have to understand that. I wish I could have done something to prevent this from happening. I sincerely do."_

"Sure," Danny said quietly.

Vlad sighed. _"I really do. Please, Daniel, all I want is to help you. I'm not trying to replace Jack. I couldn't do that even if I tried."_

"Oh, you've tried."

"_Danny, please, trust me."_

"Trust you! How could I trust you? After all you've done to my family-"

"_Daniel, I know this won't be easy for you, but that's all I ask of you. I want you to give me a chance to help you. Please, trust me now, little badger," _Vlad said softly.

"Vlad-"

"_Daniel, things will be different, I promise. Please give me a chance. One chance."_

Danny sighed into the phone, "Alright."

"_Can you take those pills for me then, little badger?"_ Vlad asked. _"You should be getting to sleep."_

"Fine," Danny said. He found the small orange plastic bottle of pills and unscrewed the white cap. He took two pills dismally and swallowed them with a grimace. "There."

"_Good. Now my plane is boarding, and I won't be able to use my cellphone. Will you be alright?"_

"Yeah," Danny said, "sure."

"_Alright. Just lie down and close your eyes. But if you need anything else, call the social worker. She gave you her number, correct?"_

"Yeah," Danny mumbled sleepily. "Okay."

Vlad chuckled softly. _"Well, I'll let you sleep now. I'll see you in the morning, alright?"_

"Okay."

"_Alright, goodnight, little badger," _Vlad said, and hung up.

Danny pressed the 'disconnect' button on his phone, dropped it, and let himself fall onto the bed where he promptly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Danny pulled his eyes open slowly as the sun that streamed in through the window shone on his face, protruding into the darkness of sleep. His sleep had been deep and restful, forgiving. There had been no dreams, no nightmares. Complete blackness, emptiness. But now, his mind felt equally as empty. Still easing into consciousness, he could not recall reality. The past day did not exist. His mother was downstairs cooking breakfast, his father working on some strange invention with which to hunt ghosts, his sister studying monotonously, his best friends sauntering over to Fenton Works to wake him up for school. It was as if nothing had changed.

He sat up on his bed and groaned quietly. He was extremely dizzy and his head was throbbing. He rubbed the side of his head with his hand, feeling the slick grease of his unkempt hair on his fingertips. It was then that he noticed that the house was completely silent. Between his father's ghost hunting inventions going haywire and the usual chaos these caused, the house was never silent. He wondered if everyone had left the house already and he had woken up later than usual. But his mother was usually home, and his father never left the house. So why was it so quiet?

Wondering if Jazz's car would be absent from the street where it was usually parked, he glanced at his window, then realized that he could not see the street below his second-story bedroom from where he sat on the bed, and stood. He stumbled immediately and gripped his nightstand for balance. His eyes traveled to his alarm clock, which read the time '9:15' in bright red digits.

"Oh, God," he sighed. He began to wonder how he could have slept in so late, and why no one had woken him up. On days when he didn't wake up when he was supposed to, occasionally his mother but more often Jazz would take it upon themself to extract him from the bed, something he always knew he could count on. So why not today, he wondered?

Suddenly, a horrid idea came to him. What if something had happened while he'd been asleep? What if a ghost had attacked the town and taken them, or worse? He didn't think very many ghosts would want his parents for any reason. He could think of only one, and he became sickened with fear when he did. What if _Vlad _had kidnapped his mother and father while he'd been asleep, and now they were at his mercy? Vlad might do God knew what with his mother, but he wouldn't kill her, and Danny knew that clearly. But his father…

Danny steadied himself and fled to the window, his eyes searching for something, anything, that might prove his family and friends had gone about their days without any ghostly interruptions. He hoped Jazz's car would be gone, parked at the lot at school, hoped that his father had fallen into a good luck spell and was inventing something that would change his career and his status in the town, thus the quiet, hoped his mother had gone out shopping for food, hoped Tucker and Sam went to school without him, assuming he'd be there. But what he found did not confirm any of these things.

Instead, when he saw the Amity Park news vans parked in front of his house and reporters and journalists swarming at the door below, reality came flooding back to him.

He went downstairs quickly, his face twisted with rage. He went to the front door and jerked it open abruptly, briefly startling the awaiting men and women in expensive looking suits and short cut dresses. Then, he was met with the thunder of a thousand prodding voices, questioning all at once, the blinding flashes of cameras sounding, again and again, without cease.

Danny stared at them for a moment in disbelief. He could not believe that these people were questioning him about the death of his family the day after it happened, uncaringly and curtly, as if their deaths themselves did not matter but rather who received what information first and who got the most of it out of the nameless kid. Hatred filled him, and for the first time in his career as a ghost, there came an urge to destroy them all, these people who were mortal. He had never even dreamed of such a thing before this morning. He struggled to suppress this urge.

"Get out of here!" he screamed hotly. The voices amplified, the reporters and journalists intent on exploiting his anger. The flashes heightened, the photographers hell-bent on capturing his rage. Danny slammed the door shut hurriedly and fastened the locks. When he had finished, he stepped back and stared at the door. They had begun to pound on it. He went into the living room and sat on the floor in the far corner, curled into himself in fetal position. It was then that he allowed himself to finally cry.

He wept and listened to the reporters and journalists mumble amongst each other, though he could not make out what they were saying. They had stopped pounding on the door, for which he was glad, but they would not leave. They continued to murmur in hushed whispers for some time, and Danny sat, listening helplessly.

At some point, all conversation outside stopped abruptly. Danny jerked his head up from his knees and listened intently as the sound of car engines revving reverberated then faded. When all was silent, Danny sighed gratefully and dropped his head back onto his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. Only a moment later, however, a prominent knock on the wood door sounded. Danny looked up again, his forehead creased in confusion, frowning.

"I thought I told you all to leave," he called.

"_Danny, it's me," _called Vlad. _"Little badger, I'm here now and they're gone. Can you unlock the door?"_

Danny stood, his mouth slightly agape, his heart pounding, as he stared at the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny reached out and took the door knob, his heart perched in his throat. The idea that Vlad now stood behind the door and was waiting to come inside his home was frightening to him. He might seem like he had good intentions, but Danny could not help it –he still thought of Vlad as malicious and heartless. When he imagined Vlad, he saw him possessing his father in an attempt to turn everyone at their college reunion against him. He saw him luring his mother and he to his chalet in the woods and sending his freakish assortment of wild animals after him to destroy him. Vlad might attempt to be kind now, but he was still Vlad. And Danny, with remorse, knew that, no matter what Vlad did to prove his kindnesses, he would never be able to completely overlook that side of him. That side of insidious cruelness which had created the monster that had been the cause of his family's deaths.

Danny stared at the door, feeling sickly indecisive. He realized something else now as he thought of Vlad's evil –if he let Vlad in, was he ensuring the creation of Dan? If Danny went to live with him, and the pain became too much for him to handle, Vlad did not know about Dan. There would be nothing to stop him from separating Danny's ghost and human halves if he begged him enough. If he opened the door now and let Vlad in, into his life, would he be dooming the existence of the future with the creation of Dan?

"_Danny, please open the door," _Vlad called again from outside. _"I promise they've left."_

Danny continued to stare at the door, his mind racing. He wondered if he could prevent the creation of Dan by simply refusing to open the door for Vlad. It seemed logical to him. If he didn't let Vlad into his home so he could whisk him away to Wisconsin, he wouldn't be faced with the possibility of separating his two halves simply because there would not be the temptation of the Ghost Gauntlets. If he hid inside his home and refused to let Vlad in, he could prevent the creation of Dan. He could save the future.

"_Daniel, please don't be… I'm not going to hurt you, if you're concerned about that. I just want to help you. Please let me in, little badger."_

Danny could hear how sincere he sounded, and was almost tempted to open the door. But then, he thought of Vlad's malevolent nature, and he thought of Dan, and he took a step back and removed his hand from the door knob. He sat down on the floor in the corner of the living room again, curled into himself tightly. He felt awful, but the evil Vlad possessed and the effects it would have if mistreated outweighed any good that might come out of attempting to build a relationship with him now.

"_Danny, I'm going to phase through the door, alright?" _Vlad called.

"Would you get out of here?" Danny snapped. He hadn't meant to say it so rudely, but he was irritated that Vlad, though he would have no way of knowing, was insisting that he come inside when there was so much at stake and doing so could jeopardize hundreds of people.

"_Daniel, I just spent the full night traveling to here on three separate but equally crowded and inadequate airplanes with unsatisfactory service. You can't just leave me out here," _he said, attempting to sound humorous.

"I can, and I will," said Danny.

"_I can phase through the door."_

"No, you can't."

"_Technically…"_

"No."

Vlad paused. _"Alright, I'll be in in a minute."_

"No, Vlad! Don't come in here! I'm serious!"

"_Why can't I, Daniel?"_

"Because."

"_Because why?"_

"Because, Vlad! If you do, you're going to endanger everyone in the world!"

"_Daniel, what are you talking about?"_

"You wouldn't understand, and I wouldn't expect you to, but you can't come in the house!" Danny said curtly.

"_Danny-"_

"Tell me you're not coming in my house!"

For a long moment, Danny heard only silence. He thought Vlad had gone, but then he heard, _"Alright, I won't come in your house."_

Danny sighed gratefully. "Good. You don't need to stick around here either. You should go back to Wisconsin."

"_I'm already making the arrangements."_

Danny sighed again, relief flooding him. He let his head rest against his knees and he closed his eyes, savoring the darkness, watching white dots dance in front of his eyes.

Outside, Vlad sat down on the steps of Fenton Works and stared into the street. He shooed away the awaiting taxi driver and sighed slowly as he watched it barrel down the street. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, hunched forward.

"I wonder when I should try to get back in again?" he said dismally, and chuckled humorlessly.

He did feel very worried for Daniel. He was in a worse state than he had anticipated. It was understandable to desire to be alone after the death of a loved one but to insist that if this was not attainable there would be certain doom was delusional. Vlad feared that Maddie and Jack's death might have driven him into a state of schizophrenia. But he had talked to him the night before, and he had sounded sane then. Perhaps Daniel had had a nightmare of some sort that had led him to believe this nonsense? Either way, when he found a way inside that would not upset Daniel, he would get to the bottom of it.

He sat there for a while, staring at cars as they passed, contemplating what the best way would be to approach Daniel when he did finally get inside the house.

After an hour, he stood, his patience run dry. Whether he upset Daniel or not, he could not leave him to sit inside that house all day without anyone to take care of him. He turned intangible and phased through the door. Then, he turned invisible and crept around the corner into the living room where he'd heard Daniel's voice coming from earlier.

There, he found Daniel sitting in one corner of the room, curled into himself. His head was down and his eyes closed. From him, Vlad heard soft, even breathing. His mouth was open slightly and he was drooling as he slept.

"Well," Vlad said quietly, "if it is nightmares that are causing his odd behavior, they can't be too bad."

Vlad went to him and picked him up gently, so as not to wake him. Danny did not stir. Vlad contemplated bringing Daniel to his bedroom to put him in his bed, but decided that would invoke his wrath further when he woke to find him inside his house and himself where he had not been when he nodded off. He laid him instead on the couch and covered him with a blanket he brought from the hall closet.

Vlad stood and watched over him, unsure of what he should do next.

Then, his eyes found the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

When Vlad walked past Danny and into the kitchen, he did not notice as the child's ghost sense went off. Danny, who had been sleeping dreamlessly, began to stir uneasily as he was thrust into a nightmare. It was as if Vlad's presence had triggered it. The nightmare came swiftly and did not relent. It was the first dream he had had since the accident, and perhaps he could thank the sleeping pills that Vlad had had him take for the dreamless sleep the night before. The pills had put him into a deep sleep, a place dreams could not enter, but now Danny slept lightly and restlessly—susceptible to the nightmare that was sure to come.

It was as one might have expected; Danny saw his mother and father, Jazz, Tucker, Sam. He watched them die again, listening to the laughter of his future self, Dan. And when they were gone, the two of them stood alone, staring each other in the eyes—observing what they had been and what they would become. As the confrontation began, Danny Phantom inevitably losing, Danny did not wake, and Vlad Masters began to rummage through the kitchen soundlessly.

Vlad had planned to pick up Daniel and take him straight to the airport to catch their plane. They would be on a plane for a good part of the day. They were scheduled to have connecting flights. Halfway through the first flight, the plane would land and they would transfer to another, which would bring them to Wisconsin late that night. But Vlad had not expected, of course, for Daniel to refuse to let him into the house, and they had already missed their first flight by about an hour. Vlad saw no point in attempting to book another; he thought it would be wise if he first made sure Daniel would actually _get_ onto the flight. And he thought that perhaps it had been a good thing they had missed the flight. The commotion might have disturbed Daniel further. He did not need the emotional stress of traveling on top of everything else. Leaving later than planned could also give Daniel the chance to develop some sort of closure, allow him to let his home and the small town of Amity Park go. Assuming he _would_ leave.

In the meantime though, Vlad decided to make himself useful. He realized that Daniel must not have eaten since the explosion of the Nasty Burger, or perhaps even before that, and when he woke he should have something ready for him to eat. Perhaps he wouldn't want to eat it, but Vlad would at least offer it to him. He felt obligated to show Daniel he really meant to take care of him, now more than ever after his recent refusal to let him into the house. Perhaps part of the reason Daniel sounded so delusional was the lack of sustenance his body had gotten, and Vlad thought that if he ate something it might help as well. Vlad hoped that that was all it would take to let Daniel at least accept that he was his new guardian, but he knew it was unlikely.

He rummaged through the kitchen, looking for something to use to cook Daniel breakfast with. Inside the refrigerator there were some vials with a glowing green substance inside them, which Vlad guessed were remnants of Jack's ghostly experiments. For once, he felt no scorn as he imagined Jack, attempting to invent some new ghost hunting weapon and having only jars of unidentifiable goo to show for it when he finally decided to give up. Disowning the vials, Vlad searched until he found a carton of eggs, cheddar cheese, and onions and green peppers that looked fresh enough. He decided to make an omelet, and went about searching for a pan to cook it in after he turned on the stove.

On the couch, Danny had begun to stir restlessly. Still asleep, his body writhed and small moans escaped him as the nightmare continued. He lost to Dan, and was forced to watch as the destruction of the future progressed. Vlad had begun preparing the Ghost Gauntlets to rip his ghost half and human half apart when Danny jerked awake. He was covered in sweat, and he was shaking.

It took him awhile to calm down, but once he did, he noticed the delicious smell of the omelet cooking coming from the kitchen. For a moment he wanted to believe that it was Jazz, or his mother, but he remembered how he had fooled himself before, how painful the recollection of the accident had been, and would not let it happen again. So then he began to wonder—who was in the house?

Slowly, he stood and crept toward the entryway to the kitchen, his heart thudding in his chest. He gripped the wall and peered in through the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized who it was.

"Vlad!" he cried.

Vlad turned around and stared at Daniel. He could see that Daniel was fuming.

"Why are you still here?" Danny hissed.

Vlad took a step toward him, reaching out his hand. "Little badger, I want you to listen to me."

But Danny only took a step back.


	5. Chapter 5

"Danny," Vlad said softly.

Danny stepped away, his face twisted with anger. His eyes were cold and questioning as he glowered at Vlad.

"I asked you, why are you still here?" Danny said, his voice low and threatening.

"Why are you so angry at me?" Vlad said. "Daniel, I understand this isn't easy for you but you have no reason to take it out on me."

"It's your fault!" Danny cried suddenly before he could stop himself.

The expression on Vlad's face darkened significantly. Danny observed in that moment that Vlad looked oddly pale and as if he could become physically sick.

"Danny," Vlad said, making an effort to keep his voice steady, "do you really think that it was my fault your family was killed?"

Danny stared at him, his expression of hatred waning. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tell Vlad the truth. He wanted to tell Vlad everything; he wanted to explain to him that his family had died because he had been too busy to study for an important test, and about Dan, how he had been unable to stop him and had let his family die. How his own selfishness and inability to cope and adjust to his new life without them had created Dan in the future. And about how it would happen again now. And he almost did tell Vlad, but suddenly he wondered why he wanted to. Vlad would never understand, perhaps think he had gone insane, and if he did understand, Danny knew he would be imposing a painful burden on him. If Vlad was anything like him in the least, he would become wracked with guilt and fear if he knew, and despite the fact that Vlad was his enemy, Danny could never willingly force something like that upon him.

So instead, he dropped his gaze and said with a sigh, "No, but please leave. You said you would."

Vlad approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. Seriously, he asked, "Danny, did you really think I would leave?"

"Yeah…" he said weakly, "well, I mean… I thought maybe…" He sighed without looking at Vlad "no."

"Why do you want me to leave?"

"Vlad, you wouldn't understand and I'm not going to try to explain it to you. But it would be better for everyone if you left. Seriously."

"You said you would give me a chance, Danny."

Danny sighed impatiently. "I only said that so you would leave me alone."

He did not expect to see the expression of hurt that was on Vlad's face when he looked up. It was especially present in his eyes which were shining with sadness. Danny had never thought Vlad would ever show such a telltale expression of his emotions and it disturbed him. He immediately felt guilty.

"Vlad, look, I'm sorry. I was tired last night. I said that so I could go to sleep," he said quickly.

"But that means you're not even going to give me a chance?" Vlad asked quietly.

"I shouldn't."

"Tell me why you shouldn't. Allow me that at least."

"I can't."

Again, he saw that expression of hurt and sadness, and he felt like such a jerk. He knew Vlad was trying, he could feel that. He couldn't believe it, but he knew with certainty that Vlad was being sincere. Vlad was treating him as if he were something other than an enemy, as if he were instead a son, and Danny knew that. And if Vlad was willing to put aside their differences like this, he was, too, but he knew what he would be risking if he did. He would be risking the possibility of the creation of Dan and the end of the future. He felt so torn then, and was unsure of what to say or do.

He wondered if it was possible to give Vlad the chance he wanted without succumbing to the temptation of separating his human and ghost halves. He was not sure, but he was aware that he would have to try. He knew that Vlad would continue to ask him to let him into his life if he continued to refuse, so what choice did he have? Vlad wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted, and though he seemed less selfish now, Danny was sure that he was just as persistent. But could he go to live with Vlad _and_ avoid the temptation of separating his two halves?

Suddenly, that did not matter. As he stared at Vlad, with his unchanging expression of sadness, he knew he could not refuse. He did not want to see Vlad as he was now. He couldn't _bear _to see him as he was now. If Vlad was truly opening his heart up to him, then he could open his as well.

But it would take time.

And he would have to be careful.

"I-I'll give you a chance, Vlad," he said without looking at him. "I'm sorry I've been mean. I don't mean to be, I just…"

Vlad smiled, and the look of hurt melted away. "It's alright, my little badger."

Danny dropped his gaze again, and Vlad said, "Really, it's alright, Daniel."

"Okay," Danny said weakly. "And that stuff I said earlier, about it being better if I didn't go with you… I just meant that I didn't want to waste your time." He didn't feel bad saying it because it was partially the truth.

"Danny," Vlad said, "you're not wasting my time. Not at all."

"Okay," Danny said again, feeling slightly relieved, as if he had dodged some bullet.

"Okay," Vlad said, and smiled. He turned back to the stove, grabbed the spatula he had been using, and flipped the omelet that was cooking in the pan. "Why don't you sit down? Your breakfast is almost ready."

Danny sat slowly, feeling a twinge of sadness as he realized he would never eat another meal cooked by his mom or his sister, even if the food was mediocre at best.

"You cook?" Danny asked solemnly, but to Vlad it sounded more like a blatant statement. Danny had not even realized that Vlad could cook.

"Yes, little badger. Are you hungry?" Vlad asked.

"Sure," Danny said in the same somber tone. "I haven't eaten anything since before…" He stopped.

Vlad did not make him finish. "Well, you'll like this, I think, if you like omelets. I hope you do, at least, because that's what you're eating."

Danny chuckled humorlessly. "Sure," he said. His voice was mundane.

Vlad shifted uncomfortably as he slid the omelet out of the pan and onto a plate. He went to the cupboard and pulled out a glass. He opened the refrigerator and found a jug of orange juice, which he opened and poured into the glass. He brought the plate and the glass to the table and set them down in front of Daniel. Then, he took a seat across the table from him.

"Thanks," Danny said softly.

Vlad smiled. "You're welcome."

Danny picked up his fork and took a bite of the omelet.

He decided after the first bite that he was glad, at least, Vlad knew how to cook better than his mom and his sister had.


	6. Chapter 6

They sat at the kitchen table for a while that morning. In fact, by the time Danny finally finished the omelet Vlad had cooked him, it was nearly one in the afternoon. Vlad did not care; he knew they had no schedule to keep, but it was odd for him to comprehend. He began to realize that he hardly ever had any down time whatsoever—it was all spent working to make money or scheming against Jack or Daniel. He couldn't remember a time lately when he'd even sat down at his kitchen table to eat breakfast because he had never had the time in the mornings. Sometimes he ate on the go, and sometimes he didn't eat at all. He couldn't imagine himself taking as long to eat breakfast as Daniel was, and even sitting here watching him as he ate made him feel as if he were late to something very important. It was all so foreign to him, and he thought that the near future would feel very similarly to him.

Vlad sat patiently as Danny ate. They were both unsure of what to say, and they were both silent. The silence was quickly becoming unbearably awkward. Vlad strained to think of something to say to Daniel, anything that might break the tension—it was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, as the saying goes—but it seemed impossible to him; what was there to say to someone who lost both their family and their best friends in one fell swoop only the day before? He did not think there was anything, nothing but more condolences, and he might have resorted to giving one, too, if Daniel had not spoken up.

"Were we supposed to leave, or something?" he asked without much interest.

Vlad knew he did not care whatsoever if they were supposed to leave—he had only wanted to break that thick tension by saying it. Vlad found himself excruciatingly grateful for it.

"Yes," he said.

"It's my fault we didn't catch the flight, huh?" Danny said. He wasn't looking at Vlad, nor had he once the entire time they had been sitting there, not even as he talked.

"It isn't a problem, little badger," Vlad said, and picked up his cup of coffee and took a long sip. He felt less awkward now. He was in control of the situation now that he knew what to say.

"No?" Danny asked, his voice again sounding completely uninterested.

"No," Vlad said, "not at all. I'll just have to reschedule our flights. It isn't a big deal." He knew it was, really—it had not been even remotely easy to schedule his flight to Amity Park on such short notice, and another two flights to take them back to Wisconsin—but he knew Daniel must already feel so guilty and he did not want to add more on top of it.

"It _is_ a big deal, Vlad," Danny said quietly. "I'm sorry I was so stubborn."

"Daniel, you shouldn't be sorry."

"But if I would have let you inside, we would have made the flight. I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Daniel, it's alright."

"Really, Vlad?" Danny asked.

Vlad swore he heard a note of sarcasm in his voice. Still, he answered dutifully, "Of course, Danny. It was foolish of me to schedule our flight for today, let alone this morning. You wouldn't have had any time to pack your things had we left this morning."

"Oh," he said, again, sounding completely disinterested. His voice was completely mundane. He did not sound sad, though he was, at what Vlad had suggested. That he pack his bags and leave Amity Park and never return. To do that was to acknowledge that his family would never be back, and though he was not completely aware of it yet, subconsciously he was not ready to do so. But he had no idea how it could be avoided.

Again, they both elapsed into that awkward silence. Vlad knew that his suggestion that Daniel needed time to pack his things had bothered him. He assumed it was because the idea of packing up to leave Amity Park, and all it meant to him, behind was difficult, but he was not sure. He felt hesitant to press him, and he sat silently staring into his mug of coffee.

Danny looked at Vlad silently as the awkward silence progressed. He suddenly felt as if he had offended Vlad somehow. Perhaps he had given Vlad the idea that he did not want to live with him by sounding so uninterested and irate? While that was correct, he could understand why Vlad might be hurt if he thought that. Danny felt immediately guilty, for perhaps the thousandth time in the past two days, and wanted to at least make an effort to _look_ like he cared.

To lighten the mood, that of tension and awkwardness, Danny did the only thing he could think of: engaging Vlad in witty conversation.

"That's pretty lame, Vlad," he said. "You can come up with all these elaborate schemes to destroy me and my dad and to get my mom, but you can't book a plane without messing it up. Isn't it kind of obvious that I'll need time to pack before I leave?"

Or as close it could get to witty.

Vlad looked up and smiled good-humoredly. "Well Daniel, I may be able to come up with all these elaborate schemes to destroy you and your father and to get your mother, but I would like to see the day I am actually able to _execute_ them. The last time I checked, you were always defeating me and foiling my plans."

"Okay, you don't need to give me _that_ much sympathy, Vlad," Danny said, and smiled, only slightly, but smiled all the same.

Vlad smiled at him, feeling immense relief. There was the Daniel he knew, that witty and overconfident boy. And he thought that perhaps Daniel would be alright. Perhaps it wouldn't be long before Daniel was smiling and laughing as he had seen him do while spying on him. Nothing could fix what had happened, but perhaps Daniel would move on.

If anything, though, Vlad hoped Daniel would at least keep it together long enough for them to reach Wisconsin.


	7. Chapter 7

Vlad was still sitting at the kitchen table when Danny left for his bedroom. Between his shoulder and his ear his cellphone was held, one hand on the mouse of laptop on the table in front of him and the other hand clutching a pen as he scrawled the information one of the customer service agents at the airport he was speaking with told him. Like most people in her position, Vlad mused as he listened to her speak, her tone of voice clearly projected her discontentment for her job, which he found understandable. He realized how utterly dull it would be to sit behind a desk all day and listen helplessly to the stupid questions and angry complaints of travelers who used the airport. He was sure this woman was already tired of him, because he had done both ask stupid questions—or perhaps they had become stupid to her after having to answer them for the thousandth time—and complain angrily, and they were not fifteen minutes into the call.

"What do you mean, 'there aren't any seats available on Flight 136 to Wisconsin'?" Vlad snapped impatiently, the hand he had been using to record, only legibly enough for him to read, the times and dates of flights to Wisconsin stiffening abruptly. "There has to be _somewhere_ for us to sit."

No, the woman explained, unless someone canceled or did not claim their seats, just as he had done, she reminded him with gleeful sarcasm, there were no available seats. The woman monotonously recited the information of another flight, however, that would be on a later date.

"Are you suggesting we wait another two weeks simply to take one of your mediocre flights, when, may I remind you, there are several other airports with management that I'm sure would be happy to accommodate for us? Would you like my business or not?"

Of course, sir, she responded with the same sarcastic disinterest as before, but Flight 136 to Wisconsin was full, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She suggested an earlier flight, Flight 133 to Wisconsin, which had two empty seats but would be departing the next day.

"No, we will not be able to leave tomorrow," Vlad said, and sighed petulantly.

But you had scheduled your original flight for _today_, she interjected.

"Something has come up, _ma'am, _and the earliest we will be able to leave is Monday morning, preferably on Flight 136 to Wisconsin," Vlad sneered.

Something came up, she mumbled, sounding this time genuinely curious. She had learned that when persons gave such specific requests, or in this case, demands regarding flights, it usually indicated some sort of serious tragedy which was needed to be reached. She had reviewed the flight records of an identical airport in Wisconsin and had noticed that Vlad Masters had requested tickets with no notice at all and had bought them the same day he boarded the flight to Amity Park, which was perhaps the strongest indicator that there was some tragedy he was attending to. This new development only reinforced this belief, and she knew that, like with other customers in the same situation, if she prodded enough, she would be presented with a good synopsis of the tragic events which plagued that person's life. This, she decided, was the most interesting part of her job.

"Yes," Vlad said, "and because I'm sure your life is very dull and you've no other source of excitement, I'll tell you what—there is a funeral on Sunday that we must attend." His voice rang out with sudden moroseness.

Vlad Masters had not been aware of the funeral until he had received the call from Danny's social worker informing him so before he had rung the customer service agent. Apparently, the mayor of Amity Park had wanted to hold a memorial service for the Fenton's and the children of the Manson's and the Foley's. Vlad saw no kindness in the gesture. He believed it was the mayor's way of preserving his political and social status; to indicate to the public that the lives lost in the explosion would not be forgotten, or rather, to ensure his own _decency_ was not forgotten. But Vlad supposed the true motives of the funeral did not matter—he thought it would be excellent closure for Daniel and perhaps for himself as well. To his knowledge, Daniel did not know about the funeral, but he did not think he would need to ask him if he would go. He was almost _certain_ Daniel would want to be present at his own family's funeral. How could he not?

But of course, staying for the funeral would complicate their plans to leave Amity Park. Of course he wanted Daniel to be able to stay in his home town, Amity Park, long enough to have closure, but he did not want Daniel to stay _too_ long. Having closure would be good for him, going to the memorial service would be good for him, but anything after that would be something along the lines of obsession. He wanted Daniel to forget and move on, not to dwell because he was trapped within walking distance of where the accident took place and didn't have any control over when he left. This was why they needed to get on Flight 136. They could not leave before the funeral, but they could not stay in Amity Park for another nine days afterward.

The woman professed false sympathies. She asked, with uncontained anticipation, because she felt the story was reaching its climax, the long-awaited and anticipated portion that kept you on the edge of your seat, whose funeral it was he would be attending. But, she was only to be shot down, a rare occurrence, for she knew people with problems needed to unload them on someone, and it was best if that person was not visible to their eye so they did not have to see the reprimanding looks of disappointment and disdain on the faces of those they knew and were close to who heard their woes, and that person she had become.

"That isn't any of your business, is it? Now do your job and find two seats on Flight 136 to Wisconsin for my boy and I."

The moment he uttered the words, he felt unable to speak. In fact, he felt unable to _breathe. _His eyes were wide and his pupils were small, like the head of a pin. He gasped with uncompromised astonishment at his own voice. He had just called Daniel his boy. Daniel Fenton, _Danny Phantom_, who he had sworn he'd hated and vowed to kill. This boy, this _teenager_, who had aggravated him and insulted him to no end, who had hurt him and defied him more times than he could count, he had just called his boy. _He had just called _Danny Phantom _his boy._

The customer service agent was saying something, but he only vaguely heard her. She said that if someone canceled their arrangements on Flight 136 to Wisconsin and two seats became available, she would reserve them for him and his _boy. _If not, she offered, would he like her to reserve two seats on the later flight, which was scheduled for two Tuesdays from yesterday?

"And…and you're sure you've got nothing open Flight 136? We won't be able to leave Amity Park any earlier than Sunday night, but I don't want to leave any later than Tuesday. Are you sure there isn't anything you can do?"

Again, she sympathized falsely and said that she didn't think she could do anything to get them on Flight 136 unless someone canceled.

"And…there isn't an earlier flight to Wisconsin than two Tuesdays from yesterday?"

She told him there was not, but would he like her to reserve two seats on that flight if there were no cancellations on Flight 136?

"I…I suppose," Vlad spoke slowly into the phone. "The nicest seating you have. In first class, if possible."

Of course, she said, and thanked him. She agreed to reserve him the seats if there were any cancellations on Flight 136, and said that if there were not they would be on Flight 266 to Wisconsin on Tuesday, and then hung up.

Slowly and darkly, racked with confusion and that unchanging helplessness, he wrote down the information. Then, he stood and started for the stairs.

Daniel had gone up to his bedroom without much disagreement after Vlad had lightly suggested he should pack his clothes and his favorite possessions. Now, Vlad decided, he would tell him to unpack.

As he walked up the stairs, he thought about calling Daniel his boy. It was the first time he would feel the sickening sense of foreboding that perhaps bringing Daniel to live with him wasn't such a good idea after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Danny was sitting on the floor of his bedroom in front of his closet. The doors were wide open, and out spilled a tangled mess of clothes and shoes and the like. Beside him was the old leather suitcase his father had given him to use when they had first gone to stay with Vlad for the college reunion. Thrown inside it without order was one of his shirts and a pair of jeans. The rest of the mess sat in front of him waiting to be packed away as well, but laid simply untouched, as it had since the first and last two articles of clothing were packed.

Danny was not even looking at the pile. His eyes were averted, staring down at the picture he held in his hands. He had forgotten about what he was supposed to be doing, but not entirely. In the back of his mind, he realized this action was inevitable. He knew perfectly well that packing his things to leave the place he had spent his life and had invested so much time and effort to protect would mean acknowledging that his family was dead. This was something he was not ready to do, and though he was not aware of it, it was not something he _could _do. Still, even with Vlad here, even with all the news reporters wanting to get the story from the best source possible, he did not really believe it was true. A part of him knew it, but a part of him felt like he was caught in an unrelenting nightmare of an impossible event that he would just _have_ to wake up from.

He fought to keep himself from remembering that Vlad had lightly suggested he pack his bags so that he could whisk him away to Wisconsin forever without hope of returning—lightly, of course—and that that was really what he should be doing. His eyes gazed at the smiling faces of his family instead, the picture that had been taken on that hot day during one summer in front of Fenton Works. It seemed impossible to him now to comprehend that things could have once been so carefree and without pain. He felt ignorant staring at the scene. He felt as if he should have known that fate only built one up to tear him down when he was least expecting it. He _knew _that he should have anticipated such a thing. Why else give him ghost powers than to take away the only source of comfort and love he had? Built up by those powers, given strength, confidence, a good conscience; torn down by those powers, racked with guilt, frustration, pain.

His grip on the picture frame tightened abruptly. He ground his teeth together in sudden rage. He was shaking as he hissed, "_I hate you, God,_"his eyes unmoving from the picture of his late family. "_Fuck you._"

There was a knock at his door, and Danny jumped. He jerked his gaze away from the picture and turned to the door and stared at it intently.

"_Daniel,_" Vlad called, "_Can I come in?_"

"Uh… yeah, door's open," Danny called, straining to keep his voice steady. He willed himself to calm down, forced his rigid body to relax, to stop shaking, to loosen his jaw and let it hang slack before his teeth shattered from the pressure. As Vlad began to open the door, Danny found himself subconsciously hiding the picture beneath the mess of clothes and shoes and the like.

There was no one exact reason for this action; partially, it was because he knew he would be pitied if Vlad saw him staring at it, which he did not want. He already felt helpless enough as it was, and he did not want to give Vlad any more justification to coddle him. Perhaps it was also because he still felt partially weary of Vlad. He thought perhaps Vlad was simply plotting something against him and was using the fabricated sympathies to lull him into false security so he could betray him, and he realized he did not want to give him something to use against him should he do so.

"Little badger," Vlad said as he stepped into the room. His expression was softened with weary hopelessness and despair. His eyes were dim. "How far have you gotten into packing?" His voice was quiet and timid and guilty.

"I haven't really gotten into it at all yet," he said, sounding slightly sheepish. "Why?"

"Unfortunately we won't be leaving as soon as I had hoped, little badger. The flight on Monday morning had no open seats available, so we won't be able to leave until later."

"How much later?" Danny asked quietly and seriously, his forehead creased with concern.

A part of him did not want to leave Amity Park, for, again, he did not quite grasp the fact that his family was lying dead in a cold morgue somewhere, but, on the other hand, he did not want to stay in Amity Park either, because all evidence pointed to that conclusion, and if it were true he did not want to stay in Amity Park any longer than he had to. It was already unbearably painful to stay in the place his family had once thrived, amongst the lingering odors specific to each of them individually, surrounded by their possessions. It seemed impossible to stay here any longer than Monday.

As if backhanded again by God, Vlad spoke softly but with unmistakably strong humiliation, "Two Tuesdays from yesterday."

Danny stared at him for a small moment, his mouth hanging slightly agape. Then, he spoke, his frustration and vexation just barely controlled, "God dammit."

"Little badger, please—"

"_God dammit!_" he cried, and rose to his feet and almost ran past Vlad as he retreated from the room.

"Danny!" Vlad called after him, and reached toward the door absentmindedly. He was going to go after him, but he could not bear to see that despair and uncontrolled rage that he knew he had caused in him. He thought that perhaps it would be best to give Daniel some time to be alone as well. He decided Daniel would not, most likely, do anything rash, therefore it would be fine to let him be for a while. So, humiliated, he sat down on Daniel's carpet and began to soundlessly and neatly sort through the mess and return each article of clothing to its rightful place in his closet. When he got to the bottom of the pile, he saw the picture. He picked it up and held it timidly in his hands.

The front door downstairs opened and closed, and he went to the window to see Daniel running down the road. He hurried down the stairs, clutching the picture frame to his chest, and set after him, because Daniel had, in fact, done something rash.


	9. Chapter 9

Coincidentally, Vlad did not have to search hard to find Danny. It did not take much time, of course, to locate one boy on mostly abandoned streets—people had shut themselves in their homes to mourn over the deaths of the late Fenton's and the children of the Manson's and the Foley's and one mostly unrecognized teacher—when you had a bird's eye view from the air. Danny had not, luckily, gone ghost, which Vlad found himself entirely grateful for because it signified that Danny could not have meant to seriously run away when he'd left. Vlad had thought it was fine that Danny wanted to be alone but not if it meant leaving the house and risking bringing injury to himself or having a mental breakdown, which was a perfectly plausible idea considering Daniel's current emotionally unstable state of mind, and not having someone with him to provide him assistance and comfort in the time he needed it most. Ultimately, found Danny sitting with his back against a tall oak tree in a park near Casper High. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his head was down in his folded arms. Vlad frowned deeply as he descended into the park's wide, open field. An icy wind stirred his onyx tresses and made the shortly-clipped green grass quiver. Vlad realized how cold it was on this particular day, though it should not have been. It was early spring, and the days should have been warm and light, inviting the occupants of Amity Park to abandon their computers and videogames for the afternoon and spend that time outside, but today it was cold and repressing. Vlad had a sudden but very vague notion that the death of his beloved "wife" and the others had physically altered the weather. It sounded farfetched, but death was the coldest thing there was. The deceased were cold, and so was the soil of their graves and inside their coffins and in the morgue, and it left loved ones feeling cold, did it not? But perhaps it was not the town as a whole that the cold had descended upon but rather him alone, because he now felt about as cold as the bodies of the Fenton's would be by now after having cooled down from the explosion, or what was left of the bodies. But perhaps it was not only him; he did not have to ask to know that the chill had descended upon Daniel as well.

He certainly _looked_ cold. At first glance, Vlad thought Daniel was crying, but after closer speculation Vlad realized his was just shaking. No tears, not a whimper or any sound to indicate he might have been crying, accompanied this involuntary gesture. He was simply shaking. Vlad felt awful as he watched him convulse in this way. In his panic to find Daniel, he had had a momentary lapse in judgment and had left the Fenton home without a coat or a blanket of any kind. He knew there was no way he could have anticipated it might be this cold, but he still felt awful. Daniel was wearing what he usually wore, a simple pair of jeans and a light white and red t-shirt, which offered no warmth whatsoever. Vlad knew it was his duty now to properly take care of Daniel, but he was unsure what he could do to help him, that was, of course, aside from bringing him back home. But Vlad was sure that that would be no easy feat in itself. However if Daniel would not come back voluntarily he would have to drag him back, not literally, of course, and while he would not have normally had the courage to do such a thing in any other situation under these special circumstances, he would not tap dance around the issue and turn the other cheek if it meant Daniel harming himself—or rather, freezing himself from this cold that may or may not have just been in their heads.

Vlad was unsure of how to approach him, but he sat down timidly next to him. He had read somewhere that when talking to children, especially about important matters, it was necessary to be at their eyelevel rather than to be standing over them in a menacing, threatening manner. He did not want to, of course, force Daniel to come back home with him, but he would if it became necessary. He would first attempt to coax Daniel into doing so, which was a concept he was not too entirely familiar with. Normally, if he wanted something done, there was no sweet-talking—there was only an ultimatum, which went like so—you had better do this this instant or I'll have to make you do it myself. In Danny's case it would have been—you had better get back into the house right this instant or I'll have to drag you back there myself. It would have been, normally, but these circumstances were not normal. So he sat beside Danny, calculating his words carefully, as he tried to go about getting Daniel back into the warmth of the Fenton home.

Beside him, Danny had not looked up, or even stirred in the slightest. His body was submissively still but rigid with the knowledge of Vlad's presence. He was still quiet, uttering not a whimper or a sound of weakness.

But when Vlad put a hand on Danny's shoulder, he jumped without lifting his head from his folded arms. Then, he once again became still, only shaking lightly from the frigid air, without acknowledging Vlad, quiet and passive. "Danny," Vlad started in the softest voice he could manage, "little badger, where did you think you were running off to?"

Mumbling into his folded arms, Danny said with distinct confusion, as well as that ever-present hopelessness, ringing out in his voice, "I don't know."

Vlad frowned as he stared at him. "Are you upset about the flight I scheduled?"

"Yes."

"Will you come home with me and talk with me about it?"

"I don't know."

"Little one?" Vlad said, his frown deepening.

"What?"

"How can you refuse the temptation of your warm home in such frigid weather?" Vlad asked.

Danny looked up a little from his folded arms. His face was pale and morbid as understanding began to formulate. "I thought it was just me," he said.


	10. Chapter 10

"You're cold?" Danny asked timidly, and in his voice there was something like fear.

"Yes, little badger, I am," Vlad said gently, holding Danny's gaze for a brief moment before looking away.

Slowly Vlad climbed to his feet, reached down his gloved hand, and feebly ruffled Danny's unruly tresses. When Danny cringed away, Vlad felt his heart—or whatever lay beneath his chest—shatter. Daniel looked as if he had just been touched with a burning brand, rather than a gentle and somewhat hesitant hand. His wide eyes were averted and staring in the direction of Casper High. The building was just visible from where they were, and though the sight of it must hold so many painful memories for him now, Vlad realized it was easier for Daniel to face all the pain that that school instigated than to face him. And this realization seemed to shatter those fragile pieces that were left of his heart into even smaller, more permanently unfixable pieces.

Vlad was unsure why he had expected anything otherwise. If he'd been in the same situation as Daniel, there was no doubt in his mind he would have cringed away in the same fashion. Here was this socially-awkward teenage boy, so confused and alone and afraid, who'd lost his family and was now forced to live with the person who'd been the main cause of his problems for as long as he'd had his odd condition. What this person expected of him was that he dismissed all the feelings of hatred he'd developed for him prior to the accident, and this person would also, but it was easy for this person because there was no hatred for him to begin with. This person could give him this affectionate gesture and feel almost comfortable doing so. But how could the boy? How could this boy, who'd been threatened, beaten, and diminished by this person, let go of this hatred that had been so well-built from every battle he'd escaped humiliated and broken? Was it even fair to ask this of him?

Vlad knew he had no right to expect that Daniel became the perfect son he'd always wanted, with all of the attributes of the perfect son—someone who'd tell him when there was something the matter in his life and ask for guidance, come to him for comfort in times of sadness, openly express his affection for him, call him father. He knew he had no right to expect that Daniel move on from the life he'd lost and become happy to be with him. He knew he had no right to expect that Daniel not cringe away when he ruffled his hair… but he did. And when these expectations were not met, it was more painful for him than anyone could ever know.

Vlad knelt down in front of Danny, who glanced at him quickly, his pupils the size of the head of a pin, frightened. Then, his eyes darted away and back to the direction of the ominous structure of the school.

"Danny. Danny, look at me," Vlad said, and it was the first time Danny had ever heard Vlad sound so utterly helpless. His voice was quiet and timorous, the voice of someone who is so afraid of rejection that every word they utter seems as risky as answering the bonus question on a television game show to either double the money or to lose it all in one fell swoop. Vlad was not asking Danny to look at him—he was pleading.

However, Danny's eyes were unchanging, and when Vlad became aware that he would not be granted this, he reached out and took Danny's face in his hands without any deliberation whatsoever before doing so. Danny retaliated with a small, weak sound of surprise. His body jerked violently, and whether this was unintentional or not Vlad did not know. But when Danny began to squirm desperately, his eyes shut tightly and his teeth clenched, Vlad felt those shards of his heart break again.

Danny struggled and writhed in his grasp to no avail, and Vlad's hold on his face did not lessen because he was aware that he would not allow this to go on between them. He would not let Daniel shut him out like this, no matter how simple and painless it would be to do so. If he did, there would be no hope of mending Daniel's broken spirit, or his own, for that matter. They would not live in that house helplessly divided and tap dance around the existence of the other. They would live together, and they would provide for each other what they didn't have—love. If they were ever to do that, they needed this. And he knew this reality was so far off, but he was determined that Daniel see it was not impossible.

"Danny, please stop. Please, little badger, stop."

"Let go," Danny gasped helplessly as he continued to thrash. "Let _go_."

"Danny, you said you would give me a chance, and that's all I ask of you. Please, my little badger, just give me a chance," Vlad said with softness that sounded unfitting and foreign coming from his mouth.

Danny stopped squirming and stared into Vlad's eyes. In them, he saw nothing but undiluted affection, but he was sure there was something more than that. In those eyes, he saw, for the first time—and he believed it was the first time it had ever shown so openly in those eyes—genuine and untouched love.

Danny's will broke then. His body went limp in Vlad's grasp as he started to cry, overwhelmed with so many different emotions he couldn't place with any certain feelings. Vlad wrapped his arms around him and held him, running his fingers gently and soothingly through his soft hair. Danny laid his head submissively against Vlad's chest and let him hold him, feeling too disheartened and emotionally and physically enervated to protest this affection.

He began to speak as he cried, his voice filled with stronger hopelessness than Vlad had ever heard. "I'm so afraid," he moaned.

"I know you are, my little one, but everything is going to be alright. This pain can't last forever. Things are going to get better for you, Danny, for _us_. In the end, it will all be okay. I just know it," Vlad said, and pulled Danny closer.

"No it won't," Danny said. "We're all going to die."

"Oh, Danny, no. No, we aren't going to die. Where did you get such an idea?"

"Vlad?"

"Yes, Danny?"

"Please promise me something."

"Of course, Danny. What is it?"

"When I go to live with you, always do what you think is best for me, no matter how much I want the opposite. No matter how much I beg or fight you, no matter how certain I think I am about something, do what you think is best and don't let yourself be persuaded by anything I do. Don't let me make my own decisions. _I didn't know what I was doing_," he cried softly.

"Oh, Danny, of course I will. You know that all I want is what is best for you."

"Promise, Vlad?"

"I promise, my little badger. I promise."


	11. Chapter 11

They sat together beneath the tree in this manner for a while, Vlad holding Danny closely in his arms and stroking his hair comfortingly and soothingly. They had both elapsed into silence, but this, unlike those silences before, did not seem as uncomfortable. Of course, it still seemed odd—being held by or holding someone you'd come to believe was your enemy—but that was not enough to leave either of them with the desire to break away from the warmth of the other and enter the cold that seemed to have eluded them for now. They both unanimously felt that what needed to be communicated verbally had been and that what remained to be said could be communicated through this simple embrace, this comfort they provided one another. And while Daniel might not realize it, or if he did, be able to fully comprehend it, that was the truth—Vlad needed this comfort just as much as he did.

Vlad might act in his usual composed manner, as if he had not just lost the love of his life and watched the child he considered to be his son enter a spiraling depression. He might act as if he were not bothered by this at all, but he was. It might not seem like he was devastated by this, but he was, just as much as Daniel. And while Daniel might think that he only received comfort, he would never know or believe that he gave comfort as well. And he would never know how grateful Vlad was for this. He might not have been holding Vlad or stroking his hair, but the fact that he was simply present and willing to let Vlad embrace him was enough. And Vlad derived perhaps even more comfort from Daniel than he did him, for it was the first time in a long time he had held someone so intimately, and it brought him such joy, such solace. It almost made the love of his life and all the pain she had brought him vanish, because he felt that Daniel was taking her place in his heart. Maybe she had never filled that place; maybe it had been sitting empty waiting for Daniel to do that instead.

Danny was certainly not aware of the comfort he gave Vlad, because, in reality, he had never considered Vlad to be an actual human being who _needed_ comfort. He could not recall a time when he'd seen Vlad in any state of emotional weakness whatsoever, even on the countless occasions when he'd swooned over his mother like a love-struck schoolboy. It was hard to believe, even now, after all the kindness, and, yes, even love he'd shown him, that Vlad could have a heart beneath his chest, and one that needed to be repaired, at that. And even after his mother's death, Danny still could not imagine Vlad yearning for solace, even disregarding the fact that she had been the love of his life, the only person he openly admitted to caring for. But while he did not believe Vlad possessed such human weaknesses as longing to be comforted in times of sorrow, he could not fully believe Vlad had no heart at all, no matter how easy it would have been to do so. He might have once been so incomprehensibly evil, and Danny might still be weary of his intentions, but right now he was holding him to his chest and petting his hair lovingly, and whether or not this gesture was genuine, he felt grateful for it. Because no matter how tough and independent he tried to act, he did need comfort, and Vlad would never know how thankful he was to receive it.

They sat together like this for a long while, basking in this silent comfort, when Vlad was disturbed by the frigid cold which inhabited the air. He looked down at Daniel in his arms, and observed his distracted eyes, staring off into the vastness of space, and the way he shivered lightly. Vlad decided almost subconsciously, because it didn't really matter in the least, that Daniel must not be aware of the fact that he was shivering. It looked to him as if shivering was merely some second nature action which had cemented itself in Daniel's mind, because he looked neither bothered nor pained by the sharpness of the air. He simply looked as one does when spaced out, so far gone from reality that it is necessary to snap your fingers to bring them back. Vlad found that he was also shivering, a little more lightly than Daniel, but shivering all the same. And as much as it pained him to do so, he would have to put an end to this intimate moment with Daniel, unless, of course, they both wanted to freeze to death, because it seemed that that was where they were currently headed. He decided he would take Daniel back to Fenton Works and warm up a while, and, he hoped with his entire being, receive Daniel's comfort yet again.

So, he gently let go of Daniel and stood to his feet. "Why don't we head back, my little one? We'll freeze if we stay out here any longer."

Danny did not look up or move, and lightly, Vlad urged him, "Come, little badger, it'll be warmer inside. We can keep talking if you'd like, but I don't want you to catch a cold sitting out here."

"That's a myth," Danny said without moving his gaze from where he was still staring off into the distance.

"Well, myth or not, we need to get you back home. Hypothermia is no myth, now is it? So, come on, say your battle cry and change into Danny Phantom so we can go warm up."

"I'm never changing into Danny Phantom again." His eyes did not move. His voice was cold and held complete, morbid seriousness as he said, "Never."

Vlad frowned as he stared down at him. For a small moment, neither of them moved, until Vlad leaned down and picked Danny up. Danny's eyes widened and he gasped in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he cried in dismay.

"Bringing you home if you won't yourself. Now stay still so I don't accidentally drop you," he said, and smiled because he felt he could.

"God dammit, Vlad," Danny said, but made no real protest to escape the grip Vlad had on him, and the tone of his voice seemed to have lightened.

Seeing this, Vlad's smile grew wider and he took to the skies holding Danny Fenton in his arms.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hello everyone. I wanted to propose something to you all, because lately I've been feeling guilty that I've been updating with very short chapters which usually end on cliffies. As with another of my stories, I would like to begin updating this story twice a week instead of once, but I would like to make sure that I wouldn't be wasting my own time, so please let me know if this is something you're interested in.

Disregarding that, thank you so much for all the support you've been giving me for this story, it's greatly appreciated. Please review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

~VC


	12. Chapter 12

On the way back to Fenton Works, Danny laid in Vlad's arms, submissively quiet. His arms were crossed against his chest, hugging himself. His eyes were averted and downturned as he studied his unclipped and dirty fingernails shyly, thinking without cease how he should clip them and clean them though knowing he never would, the way one does when they feel awkward and need a sense of escape for their mind. His legs hung flaccidly and swayed as Vlad flew, subservient to the force of the wind. His whole body was static and tense as he laid there and shivered, for he was still unfathomably cold. Danny could not tell whether or not Vlad was shivering as well, but he looked frozen and pained, despite the fact that he had also elapsed into an uncomfortable silence and did not mention it. He was not looking at Danny, but rather kept his eyes focused on the channel of air ahead of them.

"Vlad?" Danny asked softly, timidly, without moving his gaze from his unruly hands.

"Yes, little badger?" Vlad said, but, like Danny, his eyes never moved.

"Are you sincerely cold?" he asked, his voice low, inquiring.

Vlad frowned slightly and his forehead creased mildly in confusion. "Yes, I sincerely am. Why?"

"Because it doesn't make sense. It's springtime."

"It wouldn't make sense, Daniel, if we were normal human beings, to be feeling this level of cold in the springtime. We would need to be rushed to the hospital if we were. But we aren't, are we?"

"No, we aren't."

"And why do you suddenly and unexpectedly feel cold and see your breath, Daniel?"

"When I sense a ghost. But it couldn't be that. You're cold too."

Vlad looked at him and smiled with condescending superiority. "You think you're the only one with a ghost sense, little badger?"

Danny's eyes widened. "No way. I thought that only I could sense other ghosts."

"Well, no, Daniel, you're not the only one. As I said, I am able to sense ghosts as well, but not as strongly as you are able to. When I sense ghosts, it is an inward reaction. I can't see my breath, and, _usually, _I'm not outwardly cold," Vlad said.

"So how do you know you've sensed one then?"

"As I said, it's an inward reaction. It's as if the cold is trapped inside me and is building."

"But you can't let it out, can you?"

"I suppose not, but I haven't neurotically tried, Daniel. It isn't an important power to me."

"_Power_?"

Vlad turned to stare at him oddly and bemusedly. "Of course it's a power, Daniel."

"You mean, like…like…"

"Like being able to control snow and ice and use it as you would a beam of energy, Daniel."

"And we _have_ this power?"

"Yes, Daniel. You didn't know that before?"

"I thought it was just a ghost sense, nothing else."

"Well, yes, it is a ghost sense as well. I have been studying it for some time now in an attempt to find a connection between the actual powers and the ghost sense, but I haven't been very successful."

"Wow," Danny exclaimed breathlessly, winded, "I feel seriously stupid right now."

"You shouldn't feel stupid, my little badger. These powers are such a confusing, frightening thing, aren't they? Even I have yet to fully understand them, and, for the record, I happen to think you are coming along very well with them," Vlad purred and ruffled Danny's hair.

Danny flushed hotly and averted his eyes in embarrassment. And when he overcame this initial discomfort, he darkened. "I am _not_ coming along well at all with them. _I couldn't even…_" he trailed off.

"Well, I think you are doing fantastically. I—"

"_So_, why do you think our ghost senses are going off right now?" Danny interjected quickly and easily.

"Well," Vlad said, frowning, his forehead again creasing in confusion, "I suppose it was because a ghost was near."

"You?"

"Well, no, Daniel, because I wouldn't have been sensing _myself_."

"God, I am such a fucking idiot," Danny said, shaking his head in disbelief at his own stupidity.

"Please, Danny, don't call yourself an idiot. This is a confusing time for you, and you are most certainly _not_ an idiot," Vlad said softly, sounding pained.

"Okay."

Vlad studied him for a small moment and Danny kept his eyes safely averted. "And, Daniel, I hope you won't be offended if I ask you not to use that kind of language around me."

Danny turned to look at him and frowned. "Are you seriously telling me what I can and can't say?"

"No, I just—"

"Oh, fine. My parents would be pissed if they heard me talking like this anyway," Danny sighed.

"Danny, please, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm _asking _you. You can say whatever you'd like, but please refrain from saying that word. I can't stand _that_ word."

"_Okay_, I said I wouldn't."

"Thank you, little badger, I appreciate that more than you know," Vlad said and smiled softly.

"Sure, whatever."

"So, Danny, would you like me to make you something to eat for lunch or would you like me to order something?" Vlad asked extrovertly.

"I'm actually not hungry at all. Just sorta tired."

"Perhaps you can lie down and have a little nap? Maybe you'll be hungry when you wake up."

"Yeah, okay."

Soon, they arrived at Fenton Works. Vlad landed in front of the dismal brick building and started for the steps, still carrying Danny.

"Vlad?" Danny said. "Hey, Vlad? Vlad, you can set me down now. Hey, would you just set me down, please? Vlad? Vlad? _Vlad_? God dammit, Vlad, and God damn you! God damn you straight to hell!"

Vlad grinned and carried Danny inside and shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>AN:

Conversation chapter! We needed one of these, didn't we? I just realized a few days ago that the majority of my chapters were about what the character felt and then nothing else was ever established, accomplished, or said, because by the time I had developed the character's emotions I was too lazy to develop anything else (or perhaps tired, because even I get tired). However, I want to let you know that every chapter from now on won't follow this format, I'm just trying this on for size to see how you like it. (Oh, Jesus Christ ;))

Also, I wanted to point out the fact that I have no idea if Vlad actually has a ghost sense or even a trace of Danny's ice powers, but I just wanted to write it in. I hope you won't kill me. I also hope that you guys get why Vlad really doesn't like the F word.

Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter and will review it, as you know I appreciate reviews and say that almost every time I update.

Well, it's only two, so I think I have time to fit in a movie before I go to bed. How does "The Human Centipede, Full Sequence" sound?

~VC

P.S. GODDAMMIT NAPPA!

P.S.S. I do not own ANYTHING I have made a reference to, and I certainly do not own Danny Phantom. Just to be safe.


	13. Chapter 13

Vlad brought Danny into the house and set him down gently on the couch in the living room. Danny sighed, feeling relieved as one does after fleeing a room crowded with his more or less mutual acquaintances whom he knows only vaguely but must work with closely. Danny leaned back on the coach tiredly and closed his eyes, relishing the softness of the cushions and pillows beneath him. Vlad glanced down at him and smiled slightly. He understood that Daniel was relieved to have been released from his grasp, and he wasn't bothered by it in the least. He knew it would take time before Daniel became comfortable with him enough that he wouldn't feel so awkward whenever he made physical contact with him. And he was willing to be patient—that was one thing he excelled at. He would not push Daniel to accept him, wouldn't shove the idea that he cared for him down his throat; he would simply ease him into a state of mind in which he would be able to accept that idea.

"Tired, Daniel?" Vlad asked gently, and smiled at him.

Danny nodded, and appropriately yawned. "Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, "I'm really tired."

"Well, we should get you to bed then, shouldn't we?" Vlad asked, and ruffled his hair gently and companionably.

"I guess," Danny responded, "but then again I don't think it would do much good. Last time I fell asleep I had a nightmare so bad I woke up."

"You're having nightmares, Danny?" Vlad asked, his forehead creased with concern.

"Yes," he said mundanely.

"Do you…want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about? It was a nightmare. I'll be fine. But I don't want to go to sleep, no matter how tired I am."

"Daniel, you'll need to sleep _sometime_. You can't stay awake forever. And I think it'd be easier for you to go to sleep if you talked about your nightmares."

"I never believed that shit. Talking about your problems won't make them disappear."

"It might make them _better_."

He shook his head solemnly. "No, it won't make them better either."

"I want to help you, Danny, but I cannot if you won't let me in."

"I…I can't. I honestly wish I could, but you'd never understand."

"I can try."

"No, you can't. _No one_ could understand. I'm not even sure I completely understand."

"Try me."

"No, Vlad! You could never understand, and I won't give you the chance! I don't want to talk about it! Can't you just accept that?" Danny cried.

Vlad sighed, his eyes drooping in sadness and idle frustration. "I can, Danny. I'm sorry I pushed you. You know I only want to help you, don't you?"

Danny sighed softly and tiredly. "Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry I snapped. I guess I do need to sleep, but the nightmares are awful."

"How did you sleep on those pills, Daniel?"

"Huh?"

"Do you remember when I asked you to take those pills the social worker gave you?"

"Oh. Yeah, I do."

"How did you sleep after you took them?"

"I didn't have any nightmares or anything, if that's what you mean."

"Then you'll take one of those," Vlad said, "and you can get some rest."

"…It's the middle of the day."

"And? You need your sleep. But if it bothers you so much, I'll only give you half the pill."

"Okay. I just felt kinda sick when I woke up this morning, that's all."

"Perhaps you took one pill to many. It's alright. You'll only take one tonight." He turned and began to walk toward the entryway to the kitchen.

"I left the pills upstairs," Danny called to him. "Do you want me to go get them?"

"That's perfectly alright. I brought some extras of my own along just in case. You can have one of those."

"That's kind of weird."

"What's weird, Daniel?"

"That you're carrying around sleeping pills. Do you have insomnia or something?"

"Sometimes, yes, but I also like to be prepared for whatever comes my way."

"And you think that some emergency might result with someone needing sleeping pills?"

"You never know, little badger," Vlad said, smiled, and disappeared into the kitchen.

When he had gone, Danny mumbled beneath his breath, "He is such a goddam freak."

From inside the kitchen came Vlad's playful catcall, "I heard that Danny! Be careful what you say, I might have brought some poison along with me that might mysteriously make its way into your drink instead of the pills!"

Danny smiled slightly. "I bet it won't. "

"Oh?"

"You wouldn't kill me."

Vlad appeared in the entryway again, wearing a smile broader than Danny had ever seen. "I wouldn't dream of it, Danny." He slipped back into the kitchen.


	14. Chapter 14

When Vlad came back into the room carrying what looked to be a glass of milk, Danny felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him, just as he had the night before when slipping the sleeping pills into his mouth and swallowing. It was not as if he could completely trust Vlad, even if he longed to. It simply wasn't that easy. This was Vlad, his career-long enemy, the person who'd tried to kill his father and he and steal his mother from them, harming everyone else in the process. It was only natural that he thought there must be something other than sleeping pills in that milk; he could not help it. He kept imagining Vlad had had mixed it with some chemical or drug that would kill him, or better yet, alter his thinking so as to make him become loyal to him. He had no way of knowing if that milk was really safe and clean to drink—he could only trust. But really, how could he? Vlad might be acting more kindly, but there was no way to tell if his intentions were as kind. He could be setting him up, just as he had his whole family the night of the college reunion, just as he had when he'd lured his mother and he to his home in the Rockies, just as he had the day he'd shown up in Amity just as the Ghost King was attacking, and every other countless time. He was trying to lull him into a false sense of security, and when Danny least expected it, finally felt that and was willing to accept the far-from-realistic idea that Vlad had really changed, he would simply betray him and execute whatever sick plans he had for him in mind. Danny could almost see it happening now. He could see himself drinking that glass of milk, could see Vlad standing there patiently until he finished it all and there was not a drop left, could see himself handing back the empty glass, could see Vlad's face change, his lips form a twisted grin, could see him laughing maniacally, could see himself collapsing to the floor, dead, or suffering from whatever the pill's purpose. But—and normally, he would have believed such a thing to be ridiculous, if someone had said it to him—he had a strong feeling that that would not happen. Feelings—something he didn't trust in, not anymore, not after they had been what had killed his family, his own _impulsiveness_. But this feeling was different; it was safe, warm, familiar. He felt he could trust it, for once, and everything would be alright.

_No, Vlad didn't poison the milk, _he thought. _I'll drink it, and I won't give him a hard time about it either._

Vlad brought it over to him, smiled as he handed him the glass, and ruffled his hair lightly. Daddy did not cringe away. In fact, he smiled back. However, it was not without surprise. The surprise, of course, was not of the gesture itself, because he had, more or less, gotten used to such gestures from Vlad, but rather the fact that he had _enjoyed _the gesture, having his hair ruffled. For the first time since the deaths of his family, he felt a sense of being truly cared for, even loved. No, it was the first time in a long time, even while his parents and sister still lived. The feeling then had been the same as it was when they died; it was a feeling of intense neglect, a loneliness that seemed to suffocate him, heated pain. Because, while they may have loved him, they had never expressed it to him in any way. Perhaps it was because he was a loser, because he failed school, because he was a shrimp who couldn't play sports for his life, because he couldn't get a girl, and maybe they thought this too. Maybe that was why, because he wasn't like his sister. Because he wasn't smart, studious, because he didn't have a foreseeable future. Maybe that was why he had felt so neglected, because while they swooned over her amazing grades and impressive awards, he sat alone, his throat closing as the loneliness wrapped around his neck and strangled him. And maybe that was selfish of him, but he had never been able to help feeling that his parents favored his sister and cared for her more than him. By this point, it seemed only natural that he should think every little compliment and praise his parents gave Jazz and didn't give him was simply their way of stressing how much more they cared for her over him. And each compliment was like a heavy blow to his stomach, stealing his breath, and he felt without air. He had gone so long without praise, without attention, pigeonholed as his sister was showered with compliments. But now, he finally had someone who was giving him what his parents never had and what he had longed for so strongly—attention. So how could he _not _like it? How could he _not _long to be held as Vlad had him back by that tree?

Danny lifted the glass of milk to his lips and began to drink as he had promised himself. The milk was warm and calming, and it slipped down his throat easily. After it was gone, he set the empty glass down on the couch's side table and leaned back onto the couch tiredly. Vlad patted his hair again, very gently, and Danny could not help but widen his smile. He had never realized how much he liked having his hair touched, because before Vlad, no one had ever touched it. But his parents had never been particularly _cuddly, _and neither was he—or so he thought—and he had not thought it was fair to expect that they be. But, the truth was, he _did _want to be touched. He _did _want to be comforted. And he felt so saddened, so isolated, in knowing that Vlad, of all people, was the one who would be doing just that instead of them.

"What's wrong, Danny?" Vlad asked softly, noticing the removed and distraught expression on his face as he remembered his parents and what they had not done. Danny came out of his thoughts quickly, pulled from that vile, barren place in his mind by Vlad's calming voice.

"Oh," he said slowly, moving his gaze to look at Vlad. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking…"

"About your family?" Vlad asked very gently, very timidly, very _uncertainly_.

Danny was tired of lying, especially to Vlad, who'd opened up his heart to him. So why couldn't he do the same? Why was he so afraid to tell Vlad what he obviously already knew? Why should he try to disguise his feeling when Vlad would find some way to uncover them anyway? And was it really so wrong, so unacceptable, to feel upset after your own family was killed the day before? Would Vlad really be unable to understand that? Would he belittle him for feeling so?

Danny already knew the answers to those questions, very clearly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm thinking about them."

"Would you like to talk about it, Danny?"Vlad asked with that same gentleness.

Danny nodded, paused, then said, "You know, they never touched me. Not like you."

"Would you have liked them to?"

"I guess I didn't realize really how much I wanted them to until now…when you touched me like that."

"You like it when _I _touch you?" Vlad said in disbelief. "What happened to before, when you cringed away from me when I laid even the slightest finger on you?"

"Were you only trying to piss me off then?" Danny said, frowning.

"No!" Vlad said suddenly. "Of course not. But it seems odd, that you would have gone from hating it to loving it so quickly."

"I never _hated_ it, Vlad. I just didn't want to admit that I did like it."

"Oh."

"Sometimes, I just can't believe that _you_ can make me believe that you actually care for me when my parents never could. That _you _are the one who makes me feel loved. But they never tried to make me feel that way. They were too busy with _Jazz_."

"Why were they busy with Jazz?"

"Because she got such good grades such could have gone to Harvard if she'd lived a little longer. They were so proud of her that they never noticed me. So obsessed with how she did that I was invisible to them, because I've never done anything important, because I've never gotten an award or a perfect score—hell, I've never even gotten an A. Because I'm a failure, and I have no future."

"That isn't even remotely true, Danny. Not at all. Do you know what I think?" Vlad asked softly, placing his hand on Danny's shoulder.

"What?"

"That school wasn't right for you, Danny."

"No?"

"No. I know what a smart young man you truly are, and that school isn't doing a thing to help that quality shine through. Public schools are generally that way. Students learn subjects a certain way, and if they are not comfortable with that way, they have to cope with it. I'm sure you simply struggled with their method of teaching," Vlad said.

"I never understand a thing my teachers are saying," Danny said, and yawned.

"I think you'd enjoy a private school, Daniel. The learning is more specialized to fit each individual student's needs. More one-on-one time with teachers."

Danny yawned again. "…No way… I'd have to wear a stupid… outfit."

Vlad laughed softly. "Uniforms aren't as bad as they seem. That way, no one has to worry about being teased about what they wear because everyone wears the same thing."

"These jackasses at my school bought these ugly jackets… so I bought one too… so I could get into their party…," Danny said drunkenly, half-asleep. "…It was pretty damn stupid."

Vlad smiled. "If you'd been wearing uniforms, you wouldn't have had to go out and buy a special jacket to get into a party, now would you?"

"I wouldn't have had to have that stupid…garage sale…"

Smiling again, Vlad gently gripped Danny's shoulders and lowered him down onto the couch. He slid his hand behind Danny's head and lifted it as he placed a pillow beneath it. He then let Danny's head fall back onto the pillow as he stood and when to the hall closet to get a blanket for him. When he came back, Danny was just barely awake.

He went to him and covered him with the blanket as Danny mumbled, "…and it would never have come to life."

Vlad smiled bemusedly, suppressing a chuckle, and said, "That's nice, Danny. Now get some sleep. I'll be in to check on you in a few hours."

With that, he stood and left, and Danny fell asleep.

As Vlad walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, he mumbled to himself, "Goodness, I hope that boy never does any hard drugs."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updating. I actually managed to break my laptop, and I haven't had time to sit at the computer during the day to update. But with summer approaching, I should be updating all my stories more frequently.

And if you're wondering, it is possible to write fan fiction while listening to Young Jeezy

* * *

><p>When Danny woke up several hours later, Vlad was in the kitchen debating whether to cook lunch or to order something for them to eat. He found himself feeling very thankful for such a mundane and normal concern to occupy his mind in place of the cruel and unusual topic of the death of one boy's whole family and both his best friends; this new concern was perhaps less normal or reoccurring than those that occupied the average person's brain. But it did not mean that the topic of the death of Daniel's family was completely removed from his thinking. Vlad's initial concern over the Fentons' death was simply Daniel's own well being and state of mind. Now, however he found and it guilted him to realize so, that his concern had shifted from the state of mind of Daniel to his own state of mind.<p>

Initially, the only thing that had pained him was seeing his Daniel in so much emotional pain. Perhaps he'd been so distracted with Daniel that he hadn't realized how much pain he had been in himself. Now, he did not think Daniel-he thought Maddie. The beautiful, beautiful woman he dreamed of making his own, for who's children he longed. And now it seemed to finally set in, the knowledge: Maddie Fenton was dead, and that meant, obviously, that she would never be back. It was something he realized he would need to accept sooner or later, and he thought the sooner the better for both him and Daniel. If he moped around in the pain of losing someone he loved, so would Daniel. If he moved on and looked ahead to better the future, perhaps Daniel would as well.

So as Daniel slept, Vlad sat and allowed himself to grieve. Though he felt such overwhelming sadness, he did not cry. He could not cry. Perhaps it was because he still possessed such resentment that she had chosen Jack over him, but perhaps it was because his heart was so hardened he was incapable of expressing his sadness in such a way. Instead, he grieved her death very silently, his body completely unmoving, his eyes closed and his head down. He sat in the kitchen like this for a very long time. He heard the ticking of the clock on the wall as each minute passed, and after some time, the sound became simply white soon enough, soon after he felt he could accept his loss, his grieving came his reminiscing of her beauty, her smile, her voice, and everything that made him sweat and made his heart beat wildly. And soon, he stood up, smiling, a bit with soft eyes, and began to rummage through the Fentons' kitchen to search for lunch.

Danny came into the kitchen soon after Vlad had finished. His face was flushed, his hair was askew, his eyes were sleepy and confused, and he was visibly disoriented. He fixed his gaze on Vlad lazily.

"Hi," he mumbled, his voice a bit hoarse.

Vlad smiled at him softly. "Hello, little badger. Did you have a nice nap?"

Danny nodded quietly, saying nothing.

"Are you hungry, Daniel?"

"Yes."

"Then, let's have something to eat. Come here and sit down," Vlad said, pointing to a chair that he'd pulled out for him at the kitchen table.

Danny obeyed and slowly came to the kitchen table and lowered himself into the seat Vlad had pulled out for him. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them as he sighed exasperatedly. Vlad frowned.

"Danny, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just pretty woozy," he sighed.

"Oh. Well, that's to be expected. But you'll feel better after you eat."

"Mm."

"Would you like me to cook lunch, or would you like me to order us something to eat?"

"It's up to you," Danny said expressionlessly.

"Daniel, I want you to choose."

"I'm fine with whatever."

"Come now, little badger. I want you to be satisfied. You don't have to worry about what I'll enjoy, and I certainly will understand if you'd rather order something than have me cook."

Danny paused for a moment, then said, "Actually, can we eat out? I don't want to spend another minute in this hellhole if I don't have to."

"...Well, I suppose that's fine, if you're sure," Vlad said slowly, staring at him inquiringly. "Do you have any idea where you'd like to go?"

"Not really."

"What are you hungry for."

"Food."

Vlad laughed. "Yes, little badger, but what _kind _of food?"

"As long as the place isn't a fuckin' burger joint, it'll be fine," Danny said suddenly, his face showing strong resentment, though it did not seem to be necessarily directed at Vlad. His lips were snarled in a frown.

Vlad sighed deeply, then reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder.

"I wouldn't do that to you."

Danny's face suddenly softened and he looked directly at Vlad. "I know," he said quietly.

In those two small words, Vlad became suddenly aware of how the dynamic between them had shifted for the first time since he'd come here. Daniel, who had once put his guard up at even the sound of his name, was giving himself over to him in these two small but significant words of trust. And while this change felt like such a blessing, Vlad also felt fear being instilled in him rapidly. The realization came to him, the cold truth, as he realized just how powerful death really was. Because, not only did it have the power to change Daniel, the strong-willed and defiant ghost-boy, but it had the power to change him as well, and he had believed, at least, himself to be the strongest being alive. He had gone from greatly resenting and even hating Daniel at times to feeling his heart break at the sight of even the slightest trace of a frown on his face.

This realization was sickening-knowing that there was something strong than he-but still, for Daniel's sake, he forced himself to smile. At first, the smile was completely forced, but when Danny gave him a small smile back, he felt it melt into an easy, natural one, as he remembered that even if Daniel and he had been changed, something good could come of it.

"Well, little badger," Vlad said, still smiling, "since it seems like you'd like a little time away from home, I know the owner of a Japanese restaurant an hour or so out of Amity. How does that sound?"

Danny's smile grew. "Sounds killer."

"...That's a good thing, right?"

Danny dissolved into a fit of laughter and fell out of his chair, clutching his stomach. Vlad watched him with an eyebrow raised.


	16. Chapter 16

Big Black Hearse

Vegeta: Ooooo you're gonna start titling chapters now? A little late for that!

VC: Get back to your own story!

* * *

><p>Danny stared gloomily out the window of the long, sleek black limousine that Vlad had had driven promptly to the Fenton home shortly after making reservations at the Japanese restaurant they'd agreed to eat, not at all surprising Danny but annoying him nonetheless. He thought this was partially to do with his unchanging disgust at Vlad's riches, or perhaps it was disgust at Vlad himself—no, Vlad's <em>attitude<em>. The way he thought money could buy _everything_. How he thought it somehow made him so much better than everyone else when he really didn't have _anything_ enviable—sure, he had a fancy castle and rode around in limos, but he didn't have a wife or kids or anyone to take to bed at night. No love at all. But what Danny most resented was the simply fact that Vlad even had the _audacity_ to bring this limo here and expect Danny to get in it so the paid driver could take them out to dinner; it seemed to be Vlad's way of easing—although it should not be worded like such, for _easing _he was not—Danny into the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

It was as if Vlad was, by bringing this luxury vehicle into Amity Park, so blatantly saying that he had moved up in the world; that he was no longer some redneck hick from some small town no one knew existed and that was barely visible on a map. No one in Amity owned a limo. The mayor did, although Danny always thought it could not really be called a _limo_. _Limo_, he decided, did not mean a black compact car where you always had a buddy with you to take you where you wanted so you never had to drive—that was the mayor's definition of "limo". But _this_ thing was a full-blown hearse, at least, that was what it reminded him of, and maybe that was also why he resented it, given the circumstances. But he knew it was more than that. He almost felt _embarrassed_ being seen in it—it was almost like him saying to all the people he passed on the streets, "Look, look, my family might be dead, but I came out of it, and, damn, I came out on top. I'm riding out of this hick town in a freakin' black limo and, hell, I might have lost my family, but look at me now, Dash, check me out now, Paulina, bitch! I'm _set_!"

And he certainly _felt _as if he was saying this to all of them by riding in this limo, and he could see that it did to the people he passed, too. He could see it in their faces, that _disbelief_. And he knew what they were thinking, for it was all too obvious, in their eyes, conspicuous: _yes, go enjoy the club while the coroner examines the remains of your family and friends, party it up _and _I bet you're happy they're dead, now you can go off with your rich uncle, now you don't have to stay in this hick town where you were so obviously an outsider, you really have no reason to stay here now anyway, so go where you think you belong _and, the most hurtful yet because it was "uttered" with—almost— compassion rather than hostility, _do you even care about them? do you even care that your family is dead?_

And he could not look at those faces, but he could not look at Vlad either, who sat directly across from him in the rather large limo. Danny had bitterly noted that Vlad had _arrived _in a taxi, and that meant he was perfectly capable of bringing that taxi back. Instead, he brought this big black hearse, and Danny wondered if it was simply to spite him. Though he knew something in Vlad had changed—and for the better—Danny was still unable to overlook that evil side of Vlad—the side that now burrowed deeply beneath his skin but had previously exhibited itself like a painter showing off his artwork that was as old as time but well loved. The truth was, he could _not _forget what Vlad had done and he would never be able to. He might be able to establish a relationship with Vlad, one that was positive and healthy, but that did not mean that he would not, it fits of anger or sadness at Vlad, remember all of the things he had done to hurt him physically and emotionally. He thought it was one of these times now; he was upset at seeing the town again, because the town seemed to frown at him, and he wanted to make that Vlad's fault and not his, because that was so _easy_, and he knew it. He knew that Vlad had only gotten the limo as an act of kindness, probably thinking it was no big deal and that he would enjoy it, and maybe that it would even cheer him up. And maybe it did. But he had let down this town. He alone. Not an upscale limo, not a well-dressed upper-class high-society man in his forties, _him_. And he felt their eyes glaring at him even though the windows were tinted, and he tried to convince himself that they did not scoff at his failure. It was easier, safer to assume they envied this limo, and even though he knew it was wrong, and Vlad did not deserve that, that was what he decided.

They hated the limo.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Vlad watched as Danny opened the door himself, got out, and slammed it, chipping the paint. The driver looked astonished and frightened as he regarded the car door and then turned to watch as Danny stormed into the Japanese restaurant, Heiwa Shokudo—"_Peaceful Dining_".

* * *

><p>AN: So, yes, I'm aware that Heiwa Shokudo is a real restaurant, but the name was so perfect I had to use it...you'll understand why in the next few chapters. I'm sorry about the shortness, the abruptness, and the rather entoxicated quality this chapter has...I will do better next time. Ps, thank you for all the reviews, I love them and appreciate them, and I WILL thank every last one of you who reviews this time...promise! So, please let me know what you think, and I promise I will start updating regularly again.

~VC

Vegeta: Why do you do that squiggly line thing?

VC: It looks like the river I'm going to drown myself in -_-


	17. Chapter 17

Danny stormed into the restaurant, eyes blazing, fists clenched, his body bent forward slightly and his footsteps heavy, Vlad hurrying in behind him with an expression of frightened, timid concern, looking as a woman looks when she is aware that her abusive husband has just come home from work in a foul mood.

Danny stomped over to the hostess' stand where a young Asian woman was distractedly staring down at the restaurant's laminated seating chart and marking it with a dry-erase marker. She didn't notice him at first, and Danny's expression darkened considerably.

"Hey, lady," he barked, tapping his knuckles on the stand. "Are you going to stand there and draw all night or are you going to seat us?"

The woman's head snapped up abruptly. She looked stunned at first, then immediately apologetic. Vlad rushed up to the hostess' table and placed his hands on Danny's shoulders upon hearing his comment and said quickly and sheepishly to the hostess, "Please, forgive him, he's been through a lot in the past few days. He didn't mean it."

"No, no, I should've been paying more attention! I'm sorry!" said the hostess, her voice skittish and guilty.

Vlad chuckled nervously, and on his face embarrassment and shame were painfully discernible as he observed the people at the tables near the hostess' stand looking at them with disbelief and reprimanding anger.

"Oh, no, it's _quite_ all right," he said. Then, he leaned down, squeezed Danny's shoulders roughly, and hissed, "Apologize to her at once, Daniel. That was extremely rude."

Danny slowly turned his head without changing the position of his body so he could glare at Vlad. His eyes glowed red. He ground his teeth together. He trembled in anger.

"_Don't you _ever _tell me what to do, you mother fucker. Don't you even think about it_," Danny hissed quietly enough that Vlad thought he had been the only one to hear it and make sense of it but loudly enough that people could tell whatever he'd uttered had not been pleasant even if it was not audible.

With that, the teenager tore out of his grip and barked at the Asian woman who hid timidly behind the hostess' stand again, "The sign doesn't say "seat yourfuckingself", so why don't you do your job and _get us a table_?"

"_Daniel!_" Vlad yelled, his mouth hanging open in disbelief and his eyes wide, completely and utterly appalled. "Apologize at once!"

Danny whipped around again, this time so he was completely facing Vlad, and said, _whispered_, his voice low and threatening, his eyes bright and burning with rage, "_I should kill you right now_."

But before Vlad could formulate any sort of response or any altercation could get underway, the hostess had gathered two menus and said, "Please, let me take you to your table." And Danny, tempted by the promise of food because he had not eaten since the omelet that morning, promptly backed down and followed the hostess through the dinning room, leaving Vlad to stand in the lobby of the restaurant and stare at Danny's backside, stunned. After a moment, he quickly rushed into the dining room, aware that it probably wasn't the smartest idea to leave Daniel unattended, feebly avoiding the stares of the occupants of the tables near the door, and caught up to them.

She took them to a small booth in the back of the restaurant—_thank God_, Vlad thought—and they sat down on opposite sides of the table. She set the menus in front of them, smiled, and told them their waiter would be with them momentarily, and left.

When she was gone, Vlad allowed the smile he'd feigned to fall away from his face and he glared at Danny. He leaned in, his face twisted in anger that was being just barely contained, and hissed at Danny, "_I know things are different between us now, but they _certainly _don't have to be_."

Danny leaned in too, smirking cockily, unfazed. "Oh, yeah?"

"_Daniel, I know you think that you can do and say whatever you like because up until now I've let you get away with it. You think I've gone soft, and you think you can do anything you want. But I am going to warn you, _Daniel,_ do _not push me."

Danny grinned. "Watch me."

And Vlad's hands shot out and grabbed the collar of Danny's shirt almost instantly.

* * *

><p><em>Wednesday, April 25<em>

_Dear Diary_

_There's nothing much to say. I think I almost made Vlad lose custody of me today. I feel like such an idiot and a jerk for pushing him like that. I'll bet he thinks that I hate him now, but the truth is, if he had to give me up, I really don't know what I would do. Of course, I would never do what I did…I would NEVER let myself become Dan…_

_I wouldn't separate my halves—I would just destroy the one I didn't want. And the truth is, Vlad is the only reason I'm keeping my human half anymore. Without him there's no point at all. I want my family back._

_Suicide would be so easy._

_Sam's handgun is in my drawer._


	18. Chapter 18

It was, to say the least, a lengthy process, one that seemed never ending to the anguished Vlad Masters. A process that began with a solitary ride in a police car, and ended with a hearing in court, the second he'd been subjected to in the span of a single month, trials that were both so incredibly different but so similar at the same time.

Danny was sitting solemnly on the couch in the living room of his empty home. The TV remote sat at his left side but lay untouched, and the TV's screen displayed the harried teenager's reflection, a pale, sleep-deprived figure, who was unmoving and stared morbidly straight ahead of him, his lips pressed tightly together. At his right, a handgun sat waiting and ready—_loaded_, winking as the shifting lights of traffic outside the living room window shown upon it. Next to the hand gun, an open journal sat.

—_what was he planning to do with my human half? When he separated us, where would I go? Was he going to kill me? Does it actually matter?_

_The more I think about it, I see that it must have been my human half, my goodness, sappy as that sounds, that kept all those evil emotions under control. It seems like destroying that half would do nothing but recreate what happened… Dan… But…_

_Doesn't it make sense, that, if I did destroy my human half, it would become ghost too? It happens with regular people all the time…my family… People die and they become ghosts. So maybe, I can blow Danny Fenton's brains out and become solely Danny Phantom but still be Danny Fenton at the same time?_

_As mind-numbingly confusing as this all is, doesn't that make sense? It would be so easy, and I'd get to see them again…_

_I guess it's not really coincidence Sam asked me to hang on to her handgun a week before the "accident"…_

The page was covered in greasy, damaged black hairs, some with their follicles still attached. He'd pulled most of his hair out that afternoon as he waited for Vlad to return, and his scalp, reddened with irritation, peeked through the thinned forest of hair, glistening with oil. He had stopped some time ago when he'd pulled out one hundred and twenty hairs, twenty for each person he'd killed. He had counted, and he had chanted that person's name quietly and dutifully as he plucked their set of hair. He thought that if anyone could have seen him while he committed this act, they would have deemed him easily mentally ill. But frankly, he would not have cared the least bit.

When Vlad came in, he, too, was harried. His eyes were dull and tired and his body slumped, his arms hanging at his side like cooked noodles. He had chosen a rather nice suit for the occasion, morbid as it was, and hardly looked now like the type of person who should be wearing it, the kind of person who holds himself high and smiles confidently and looks everyone he encounters squarely in the eyes.

He set down his briefcase with a muted thud and turned to stare at Danny tiredly and sadly.

He did not notice the gun, at least, not at first, even though Danny had made no attempt to hide it. He did, however, notice Danny's raw scalp, the hairs that matted his t-shirt and jeans and the couch behind him.

"Oh, Danny," he moaned, his voice ringing out with uncompromised sadness. "Oh, Danny, what have you done to your beautiful hair?"

Danny seemed to ignore this inquiry, and said tonelessly, his face unchanging, taking on the appearance of a wooden puppet, "What did the judge say?"

Vlad paused for a moment, then said timidly, as if he almost _shouldn't_, "The judge…decided that he would allow me to keep custody of you, because there were no visible injuries, I suppose…"

"So, you're not in trouble."

"No, I don't believe so. And if something does come up, I have a good lawyer."

"Figures."

"What?"

Danny waved his hand. "Nothing."

"Danny. Why did you pull out your hair?"

When he did not answer, Vlad sighed sadly and went to take a closer look at his scalp to determine if he would be able to style Daniel's hair to cover the bald patches.

"I can—" he started, when the gun came into his line of vision.


	19. Chapter 19

Vlad Masters had tried to grab the gun—the moment he saw it, he seemed to realize what its purpose was, what Daniel's intentions were, what was impending. His hand shot out almost immediately but not soon enough, however, because the teenager already had his hand clasped tightly around its handle, his finger on the trigger. Then, within seconds, the harried man found the barrel of the gun pointed at him, found himself staring down into it, into its seemingly gaping void.

Vlad's hands shot up, not out, instantly. He put them up yieldingly, _offering_ rather than defending. It was, as he hoped it would appear, a white flag.

"D-Danny, little b-badger," he stuttered, his mind racing wildly, his heart thudding in his chest like a hammer against cloth, because he was, without a doubt, more frightened than he had ever been in his life. Had he ever had someone pull a gun on him? Yes, he had, in fact, several times after he'd acquired his fortune. Had he been frightened in the least? No, because he was armed at all times with his ghost powers, with _Plasmius_. The second the gun came out, he would "go ghost" and grab the punk in a headlock with one arm and the barrel of the gun with the hand of the other before they had a chance to blink. But Daniel was different. Daniel Fenton was armed with _Phantom_, that ghost weapon, too. If he were to change into Plasmius and attempt to snatch him or the gun, the boy could easily dodge him and he would, Vlad thought with such strong certainty, shoot him dead where he stood. He also believed Daniel would have very good aim, being the son—or having been—of two ghost hunters who used a variety of gun-like weapons and would have most likely sat their children down and lectured them on how to properly operate these types of weapons.

Vlad knew the instant he found himself staring down into the gun's barrel that he was going to need to talk himself out of this one.

However, before he could begin, Danny said, his face flat and somehow completely emotionless and his eyes dull, "Vlad, I'm going to tell you some things and unless you want to be shot, you'd better do them. And you had better not even think about going ghost, because I'm sure you've already figured out it's not going to work. Got it?"

Vlad nodded rapidly, gulping, his body trembling.

"All right," Danny said. "I want you to slowly walk over to the closet over there. I want you to take the keys off the table—" He pointed to the kitchen table with a finger of his unoccupied hand where a glimmering set of keys laid in a heap. "—and I want you to go into the closet and lock yourself inside. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes…but p-please, l-little b-badger…can't we t-talk about t-this?"

"No, we can't."

"W-why n-not, l-little b-badger?"

Danny sighed slightly, but his expression did not change besides a slight narrowing of the eyes, and his mouth fell open slightly, dumbly, almost in annoyance. "Because we're done Vlad. We've been done since the moment you attacked me in the restaurant."

"N-no, D-Danny, l-little b-badger, _s-sweet_ l-little b-badger, it d-doesn't have to e-end this w-way," Vlad said, his trembling increasing, drawing his hands closer to his chest.

"It does, Vlad. I'm sorry, but it does."

"D-Danny, p-please, it's all r-right! W-we can s-start all over!"

"We can't, Vlad. I wish more than anything that we could, but…it just won't work. I'm sorry. I have no reason to stay on this earth anymore."

"D-Danny, you h-have m-me! W-we can s-start over, m-move to Wisconsin or w-wherever the h-hell you w-want! W-we can g-go anywhere and s-start over! W-we can! We can b-be a f-family t-together!" Vlad said, struggling with every fiber of his being not to cry.

"I'm sorry, Vlad, but my family is dead. I have to be with them."

"P-please d-don't do this! P-please, y-you can't!"

"I can, Vlad, and I will."

"Y-you c-can't! D-Danny, y-you're all I h-have! Y-you're the o-only reason _I'm _h-here! D-don't leave m-me, D-Danny, d-don't leave me!" Vlad said, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, a forever, tears began to stream down the man's cheeks.

For a moment, Danny looked speechless. His eyes became wide and shining—regaining life, it seemed—and his jaw dropped in astonishment. Sadness, pain, _agony _then swept over his features, but only for a brief, if-you-blink-you-miss-it moment as he bottled them tightly, determined to keep them from resurfacing, from _damaging_, shutting his eyes and mouth and turning his head but not allowing the gun to falter.

"In the closet, Vlad," he whispered, powerlessly but trying desperately to regain composure, control.

"_Danny, please!_" Vlad shrieked, tears falling down his face in rivers. "_Please, just let me hold you!_"

"Closet."

"_LET ME HOLD YOU!_"

"I'm going to give you five seconds. One."

"_DANNY, LET ME HOLD YOU!_"

"Two."

"_LET ME HOLD YOU, PLEASE!_"

"Three."

"_DANNY, PLEASE!"_

"Four."

"DANNY!"

"Five."

* * *

><p>In the backseat of his mother's car, a little boy sat licking a sucker as his mother drove through the town of Amity Park. All seemed eerily quiet, but as they passed a large brick building on the corner of the street with a bright neon sign that read "FENTON WORKS" in bold letters and what looked to the little boy to be an alien spaceship that had landed on top of the building, they heard a gun shot ring out and a blood-curdling shriek follow suit. The boy stopped licking the sticky green candy and looked at his mother.<p>

"Mommy?" he asked uncertainly, very frightened.

His mother, who had already been traumatized by the ghosts she saw while her son slept, simply drove faster, away from the house over which a heavy cloak of fog had fallen.

"Oh, how could I have left like that?" she said aloud when they could no longer see the house. "If someone had been harmed, and I just drove away like nothing was happening—oh, God, Jesus, forgive me!" She then proceeded to do a few Hail Marys while her son watched in alarm.

"_Mommy_?"


	20. Chapter 20

In the end, Vlad had not been wrong in his assumption that Danny's aim would be superb; the disturbed teen had pointed the gun at Vlad's shoulder intentionally and shot, not aiming to kill but rather to warn, to make it clear just who it was holding the gun and who it was backed against a wall. And while he had every intention of going through with what he had promised, it did, without a doubt, make his heart ache. Seeing Vlad in this state alone, weeping and begging for a chance, begging that he simply let him hold him, was enough to make that organ in his chest groan in despair, and so the fact that he would have to harm Vlad, now physically _and_ emotionally, was more than he could handle. He struggled to keep tears from streaming down his own cheeks as he pulled the trigger and the gun whiplashed, causing his scrawny arm to jerk. Vlad shrieked as the bullet tunneled into his shoulder blade. Danny cringed involuntarily as he watched Vlad crash to the ground and writhe as he helplessly clutched his violated shoulder blade.

"Vlad," Danny said, almost begged, just as Vlad had. "Get into the closet. Please. Get into the closet, before I have to shoot you again."

Vlad, wriggling like an overturned beetle, somehow managed to speak, managed to _moan_, "N-no, D-Danny, y-you c-can't. I w-won't let y-you!"

"What are you going to do, Vlad?"

"D-Danny, s-shoot me, k-kill m-me, but I w-won't let y-you d-die!" Vlad cried, his face twisted in uncompromised pain.

"_Well that's just damn selfish of you, isn't it!_" Danny screamed, his whole demeanor changing, his face suddenly shaped by rage.

Vlad was shocked, to say the least. "Selfish…?" he said slowly, his voice cracking, staring at Danny in disbelief.

"Yes, selfish! If we lived in your ideal world, I would kill you before coming to my senses and you'd have the relief of death while I suffered here on Earth like an animal that gets only _half_ run over on the highway! How _dare_ you!"

Vlad's eyes only became wider, unbelieving. "Danny, I…"

Danny aimed the gun slightly to the left of Vlad's head and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the man's ear effortlessly, removing a peel of skin as it sailed into the carpeted stair that connected the kitchen and living room. Vlad shrieked, his hands shooting up and caressing his broken ear.

Danny smirked and realization seemed to come swiftly upon Vlad. It was becoming ever apparent to the bleeding man that Daniel had not only lost his family but had relinquished his sanity in the process. And with this came another realization—if Daniel _had _truly gone insane, then Vlad was playing roulette with his own life for Daniel's logic might be too skewed, altered to be reasoned with, as he was coming to see.

_Who knows what will set him off_, Vlad thought, _who knows what he will _respond _to?_

Another thought followed, _How do I get _out _of this without killing both of us?_

"D-Danny," he began timidly, choosing his wording with extreme care, "Danny, I d-did not m-mean it l-like that. I know you think y-you would be h-happier in death t-than as you are n-now. I k-know that's how it seems. I k-know you h-have no r-reason to b-believe otherwise. B-but Danny, Earth is w-where you b-belong. I…I don't k-know if you're r-religious, if you b-believe in God, b-but if you do, then y-you must know he meant for you to stay h-here. He _meant _for you to live. For _us _to live."

Danny made a sound of disgust. "What has _God _ever done for me? Taken my family and my friends and gave me these _goddamn mother fucking ghost powers i hate them i hate him when im dead ill show him ill show him not to fuck with me i will i will i will_—"

"Danny!" Vlad cried to silence the endless chanting of cult-like hatred for this god. "Danny, please!"

Danny shot him again, this time, cleanly skimming the other ear, causing Vlad to shriek in agony as the bullet removed a large portion of the lobe. Danny smirked again, now seemingly _enjoying _Vlad's pain, as if all it had taken to end his own internal hurting for Vlad was for the man to suggest that he should relieve him of life but suffer it himself.

Vlad lay there and wept, realizing that there was really not a thing he could do to save himself. He'd begged and begged, but it had done no good. What else could he do but lay there and let Danny take his life and then his own?

Without thinking it would, an answer came, swiftly, and Vlad found the courage to sit up.


	21. Chapter 21

The solution was very simple, and it was one that was very familiar to anyone who'd had even the smallest amount of experience with children. It might have seemed to a newcomer that the best option in dealing with kids was to be unrealistically kind and forthcoming, but it was not so. Anyone, not solely children, as a matter of fact, would push and push and gain confidence and push some more as they realized they could, and they could get away with it. For, if the hand that feeds is not controlling and those fed are allowed to take as much as they'd like, that hand might just soon be missing a finger or two.

It seemed that Danny was now firing excessively because he knew he could; he knew Vlad would not reprimand or try to defend himself. As far as Danny knew, Vlad was a groveling weakling without a hint of self-respect who was practically selling himself to get out of this with all his limbs intact. In a sense, he was allowing Danny to shoot by playing into his game in this way, because in reality the ill-advised teenager would fire his pistol either way, whether he begged and pleaded or got to his feet and wrestled him to the floor for the weapon. His begging was not only allowing him to shoot—because if he did attack Danny, he thought he might have a chance to get the gun unscathed—but he was also giving him a sick pleasure in doing so.

Done groveling, but he would not charge the armed teenager like a fool. He knew better, for his own safety and for Daniel's sake. After all, would a parent or a babysitter attack their child for a stolen box of cookies? Because while those cookies might be returned to their rightful place, the child was not; the child was emotionally—and in this case would be—physically scarred. Vlad knew that if he were to do this he might escape relatively unharmed, but Daniel would not be so lucky. He was sure he would fight, and he'd be forced to use his ghost powers to get him under control. Now, harming Daniel who was really very helpless to his power was the last thing he wanted to do, especially under such circumstances.

So instead he sat up, mustering up all the strength he could to twist the muscles in his face to form a snarl, conjuring up emotions of rage that may or may not have derived from Danny, anything to make himself appear strong and intimidating. Clenching his fists, he uttered with some difficulty, "Danny, put the gun down." Controlling his stutter proved to be almost impossible.

Danny looked genuinely surprised, and did not seem to bother to hide it. "What'd you just say?"

"Put. The gun. Down."

The surprise left his face and in its place there was rage. "Who do you think you are, Vlad? I wouldn't order me around if I was you. I have the gun."

"Yes. Put it down."

Danny's lip drew up in a snarl and the hand that clutched the gun lowered and jerked upwards briefly. "I'll shoot you."

"You'll put the gun down, Daniel."

"I won't. In your dreams. I'll blow your fucking brains out first and paint the walls with your blood before I put the gun down."

"Then do it."

He paused, briefly startled. "What?"

"Blow my brains out, Daniel. Here's my head. Shoot."

Again, he had to pause, blown away by Vlad's new cool demeanor and confidence. It was a complete three-sixty and he wasn't prepared for it to say the least. Still, he said, "F-fine, I will."

"Go ahead. I'm waiting."

There was a long pause, one that was almost a minute long in real-time but seemed an eternity to the two troubled ghosts as they stared into each other's eyes, trying to see who would break first, or perhaps who would make the next move. It was like something out of an old Western movie as they glared at each other, a gun—at least one—drawn at the opposing partner. After this moment passed, Danny's gaze dropped in defeat and his arm fell. The gun tumbled out of his fingers and lay on the carpet at his feet.

However, the boy was not remorseful. His face was hard and gaze calculating, still completely intent on suicide but perhaps thankful he hadn't taken a life along with his own. At least this was what he told himself, because both he and Vlad knew he had never intended to kill anyone but himself and he could not, in truth, admit that the man had seen right through this attempt and rendered the gun useless. It was as if he'd run out of bullets.

Vlad snatched the gun fearlessly and stood up with a groan, his body protesting him loudly with every move.

"G-go to your room and lay down. And if I hear you doing anything else, I'm g-going to punish you. Do I make myself c-clear?" Vlad said, staring at Danny with compassionless eyes.

Danny glared hatefully at him, stuck up his middle finger, and then turned and walked slowly up the stairs to his bedroom without _orally_ responding

When he heard the door slam shut, Vlad collapsed on the floor.


	22. Chapter 22

Inside his bedroom, Danny slowly trudged to his bed, made his way around the pile of clothes spilling out of his closet, and sat down, his breath being released in a long sigh. He sat there for a long while, glaring down at the picture of his family and wondering where he'd gone wrong. Downstairs he heard Vlad crying and his face hardened but his heart internally sank. In truth, he had never meant to harm Vlad—_never_. He had only meant to harm _himself_, to end it all, but how could he not have foreseen that even if they hadn't thrown down as they had, it would break the man's heart? He wanted to kill himself—he really did, but at what cost? Was it really worth killing himself if he would spend his eternity knowing he had scarred the man who'd been so kind to him? Could he be at peace if he knew Vlad wasn't?

He sat there for a long time, thinking, wondering how he could have let himself get so out of control. Pulling the gun on Vlad and telling him to get into the closet so he could blow his fucking brains out? At the time, he thought he was saving Vlad pain, but how many times had he actually _shot _the poor guy? How close had he come to killing Vlad? How long would it have been before he'd gotten bored of asking and simply shot the man in the head if he wouldn't comply?

Danny reached up and plucked a long black hair from his head. At the end of the hair, there was a thick, wet follicle. He set the hair on his knee, reached up, and plucked another distractedly, thinking very thoroughly, knowing he'd never consciously intended to hurt Vlad but knowing he'd enjoyed it—he was smirking, after all. He thought it might have to do with that night which seemed so long ago when they'd gone to dinner, and Vlad had started strangling him, shaking him and screaming that he was horribly spoiled and selfish. They might have taken him away in a cop car, but he came back in his limo after he bailed himself out. The court date came quickly and he had an excellent attorney, and only a few hours after he left he came back, a free man.

How? Danny could only wonder how the Justice System must be flawed if a rich man could strangle a child and get away with it. And perhaps this is why he could smirk at the injured and crying man who lay on the floor before him. He thought Vlad should have had _something_. Maybe he wanted Vlad to go to jail, or maybe he wanted Vlad to have to pay a fine, but he knew in his heart that Vlad should not have gotten off as easily as he did, even if he did spend a great deal of time apologizing and begging for his forgiveness. It still wasn't right and Danny knew it. Maybe something inside him had just wanted to right the wrong—punish Vlad where the Judicial Branch had not.

But even so, had never meant to do so. It might have been necessary, or what was right, but Danny didn't believe in harming anyone like that…at least the Danny he knew.

His fingers stopped, mid-pluck, and his breath froze. _This is it. This is where I become Dan. I thought that I wouldn't become him by killing myself, but I have, indirectly. Indirectly, trying to kill myself has made me Dan._

The hardness in his face left; his jaw loosened and his eyes drooped, and he started to cry. He lay back on the bed and cried helplessly, wanting more than anything to have someone hold him and tell him it was okay.

"_Damn it!_" Danny screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "_How could I have been so fucking stupid?_ _I ruined everything and there's no going back!_

_Look at yourself! Look what you've done! Look who you _are_!"_

In the kitchen downstairs, Vlad heard his screams and moaned, his heart, as well as his body, aching. He had learned a technique which came in handy now; he had easily removed the bullets by turning himself intangible, but it was a special kind of intangible—if you had any foreign matter in your body, it would fall right out. Now four or five bullets were rolling around the kitchen floor, and he did not bother to pick them up. Instead, he was readily applying disinfectant to the deep wounds, knowing it would do no good but determined not to go to the hospital, to separate them again.

He could not bear to listen to Danny's self-effacing chants, and so he screamed up at him, even though it pained him to do so, "_Be quiet!_"

The screaming stopped, but through the walls he could hear sobbing.

Sobs—the house was filled with them that day.


	23. Chapter 23

During that period of two weeks in which they were confined to Amity Park, the Fenton house had fallen mostly silent. Danny was never there; whenever he got the chance, he retreated to the park near Casper High to sit moodily beneath the tree. Sometimes, he spent money that he didn't have; inside Vlad's wallet, there was an abundance of it, and he would often take as much as a hundred dollars from it at a time. Vlad, of course, noticed the absence of money, and the new clothes Danny began to wear—clothes that were clearly evolving rapidly—, but he never said a word, for having Danny out of his hair for any period of time even if it meant having to dole out hundreds of dollars a week was a blessing.

His bullet wounds, to Danny's amazement, had healed, leaving small, almost invisible pockmarks in their place. The teenager did not know how he had done it, but he was certain he'd never gone to a hospital—the door had not once opened, and when it did the sound was clear, like a siren, meaning that no one could leave the house…or come home late without being discovered, as he'd come to learn. But in the days that followed, the door seemed to be opening and closing more than ever, and neither of them seemed to care, unlike his parents, or Jazz, who would have tattled immediately upon the door's signal.

Vlad spent his time alone, usually cleaning the house simply because it kept him from going mad. He had already packed Danny's things neatly…twice; in a moment of weakness, he became convinced he'd left something up there—a cell phone, perhaps, because he had many of them, but whatever it was he could not for the life of him remember now—and had gone and destroyed the place looking for this thing his mind had created. When it was disheveled to what looked to be the point of no-return, he began to clean. Danny came home that day with a shopping bag in his hand and went up the stairs to his bedroom. Inside it was still a mess—he couldn't make his way to the bed, for all his clothes, old and new, lay in heaps on the floor—but he cleared a path and never mentioned it.

Of course Vlad was deathly terrified of what else Danny might be doing in the time he spent out of the house; he was shopping evidently, which was innocent enough, and Vlad gave him heads of lettuce to keep him from doing the things everyone said were naughty—smoking, drinking, hunting down the prostitutes in the nether-regions of downtown Amity and paying them for sex, etc, etc. Vlad could only hope that Danny had stayed out of trouble, but God knew he wouldn't ask—he'd been skirting around Danny as if the boy were a large, unneutered dog and he were a small, frightened rabbit, terrified, afraid that he would ruin what they had…or rather, what they were rebuilding.

While they went to great lengths to avoid each other, often making a point to remain in separate rooms, getting up and leaving if the other came in, they were also in the process—the long, wearing process—of picking up the pieces, impossible it may have seemed. Danny came home from some of his many trips to the mall, stone-faced but armed with large boxes of chocolate, the kind Vlad liked best. He would leave them on the kitchen table and go to bed, and in the morning—like a diluted visit from Santa Claus with no presents—there would be a note, saying simply, plainly, _Thank you. _Though he would not say it to Danny's face, he was incredibly grateful—it made him feel as though there might be hope for him, for _them_…even if Danny had not purchased it with his own money.

Vlad kept Danny's room clean, going out of his way to make Danny's bed and dust the shelves and wash his clothes after he'd gone out for the day. He consciously made dinners Danny liked best, coupled with dessert every day, both in hopes that it would appease the boy as well as put some meat on the lanky thing. But Danny did not take weight well, and Vlad realized soon enough that Danny could eat as many helpings of strawberry pie or scoops of ice cream as he wanted—and he did—but that scarecrow-like figure of his wasn't going to change. It made him more than a little upset, he supposed—Danny was unhealthily thin, more so now than ever, and if he was unsuccessful in fattening the boy up, he would have to take him to see a doctor. Wanting to avoid this at all costs, he bought over-the-counter medicine he hoped would help, which he crushed up and put into the milkshake he'd made Danny that night.

There was no improvement yet in the boy's weight, though he was steadily eating—perhaps a _tad_ more than steadily—like an animal—but Vlad hoped he would soon see a change, one that would not only improve his physical health, but his mental health as well. He prayed the new weight would change his attitude; in a perfect world, Danny would realize that life was not hopeless if he could, as if by some miracle, gain back all the weight he'd lost in the days before, and then some. The world was, by no means, perfect, but Vlad had seen anorexia affect his late mother, who cooked the day away and was brilliant at doing so but never touched a drop of anything she'd made. At some point, his father had taken her to a hospital, almost by force, where she'd been treated. Then, a few weeks working with doctors, dieticians, and counselors, and the weight had come back on. Her whole demeanor changed, and soon Vlad saw that she had gone from exercising in the pouring rain to singing as she cooked, and frequently tasting her creation.

Danny couldn't be anorexic—he had no problem eating, and didn't seem to care what he ate—but Vlad hoped new weight would affect him similarly. At least, he prayed, because he knew how unstable Danny was and how, without question, un-perfect the world really _was._

If Vlad was successful, perhaps things could begin the shift into normality. _Perhaps_. He didn't want to get his hopes up because he knew all too well how easily they'd been crushed so mercilessly in the past, but he had nothing else. Nothing that could calm him like that childish hope he'd so swiftly developed, so naively.

Danny came home from the mall one night, bag in each hand, his face pale and his eyes cold as they always were. He was wearing a black button-up t-shirt and a pair of worn gray shorts on which he'd attached a heavy metal chain connected to his wallet. Upon smelling Vlad's cooking, he walked carefully into the kitchen and plunked down the shopping bags on the tile floor.

Vlad turned around briefly and gave him a small, apprehensive smile, one which looked like he was trying to hold back vomit. Danny saw him gulp as he swiftly turned back to the pizza he was making, one which was comprised of a thick slab of dough and mounds of tomato sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, as much as he could add without making a mess.

"Hello, little badger," he said uneasily, making a point to use that name he'd oh-so-affectionately dubbed the boy for the first time what seemed like years ago.

"Hi, Vlad."

"Dinner won't be ready for another forty minutes. It has to cook."

"Sure."

For a moment neither of them knew what to say, and an awkward silence filled the room abruptly. Danny shifted uncomfortably where he stood, staring down at his feet which wore new Converse shoes. His black-painted fingernails gripped the shopping bags unconsciously, as if this would end the silence, put him out of his misery. Vlad stabbed the uncooked crust of his pizza in the same desperate fashion, but he, like Danny, began to realize that the silence wouldn't fix itself. At the same time, they started to talk, quickly and very conservatively.

"Maybe we should—"

"Do you want to—?"

Another silence followed this, but it was very brief, and after a moment, Danny said quickly, "You go ahead."

"I was just going to suggest we eat together tonight. You don't have to take your dinner up to your room," Vlad said reservedly.

"Have I ever _had_ to?"

"No, Danny."

The boy paused briefly but then sat down at the kitchen table as Vlad slid the pizza into the oven and clicked it on. Danny watched his back apprehensively, feeling as if he were about to give a presentation in front of the class, tasting iron and blood in his mouth as he, too, now held back vomit. When Vlad sat down at the table with him, Danny made himself swallow it, whether it was vomit or simply a lump in his throat.

Vlad regarded Danny for a small moment, his face remaining mostly monotonous, his hands folded on the table.

"I see you got your ears pierced."

Unconsciously, the boy reached up and touched one ear, which had been pierced four times—three in the lobe, one in the cartilage. The other ear had only been pierced three times, and the cartilage here remained unscathed. At the bottom of each lobe, there was an onyx stone. Next, a small steel ball, and lastly, highest on the ear, a tiny black ring. In the cartilage that was pierced, there was a smoky purple stone.

"Yeah," he said softly.

"I like them," Vlad lied. "The purple stone is nice."

"I got it for Sam," Danny said, and touched it.

Vlad regarded him for a long moment, his eyes drooping in sadness. Timidly, he reached a hand across the table to touch Danny's, and surprisingly, Danny took it.

"We need to talk," he told Danny softly.

"I know."

* * *

><p>AN:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wasn't going to write tonight, but I told myself I could only watch Dragonball Z if I updated, so I'm gonna watch the Frieza saga now even though it's six in the morning! I love Frieza but he's such an assh*le for what he did! HE RUINED MY FATHER/SON PAIRING! Gah!

~VC


	24. Chapter 24

"You know the memorial service is tomorrow, don't you?" Vlad Masters questioned softly and with a certain slowness, that of a father who has left his child to in the presence of a diamond necklace he has bought his wife for their anniversary and is attempting to retrieve said necklace after the child has hidden it. His eyes were fixed on Danny's face carefully, the gaze gentle but also very calculating, like that of the best and most well-recommended physiatrist.

Danny nodded lightly, staring back at Vlad in the same fashion, his eyes soft but very serious. Though he was willing to allow Vlad to caress his calloused hands—and was, in truth, comforted by the gesture—he could not keep the fingers from twirling and twisting nervously in the man's soft grip. As if to hush these restless fingers, Vlad's own began to stroke slightly, producing the desired result. Danny's fingers became still, but not stiff with fear; rather, they relaxed in comfort.

"Yes," he said when the distraction that was his nervous hands had finally subsided. "I heard when I was out."

"I apologize for that, Danny," Vlad said sincerely, still stroking the hardened hands of the fifteen-year-old boy. "With the wildness of these last few days, I suppose it slipped my mind."

"I understand."

"Who told you?"

"Oh." He paused briefly, as if unsure whether or not this information was safe to disclose. But after a short moment, he said, "Just some kids from school."

"Who would they be, Danny?"

"Just some kids," he said quietly, and looked down at the cool metal surface of the table, unable to hold Vlad's soft and compassionate but oh-so-calculating gaze. However, he could not enjoy this tableside view for very long, because after a short pause, Vlad released Danny's hands and took the boy's face captive instead, cupping his thin cheeks in his hands and gently forcing him to look up and into his eyes. In that moment Danny was reminded vividly of their little episode beneath the tree during which Vlad had taken his face in his hands in a similar fashion, so intimately, a moment that seemed so long ago but was not, in reality, more than four days prior.

_Just four days ago we were sitting beneath that tree and he was holding me and stroking my hair,_ Danny thought briefly in disbelief. _ How could so much have _changed _since _then_?_

Unlike that day, when he'd kicked and screamed briefly when Vlad first took hold of him, Danny remained completely still and passive, comforted by the slightly moist palms pressed gently into his cheeks—or, for the sake of negativity, simply too tired to resist now, both physically and emotionally.

"What were their names, little badger?" Vlad asked softly but intently, feeling that this information would provide very crucial to the _something _of Danny, and placatingly began to stroke one of his cheeks with the side of his pointer finger in hopes of gaining it.

"Dash," Danny said without hesitation, staring sleepily at Vlad, as if in a trance, and although the man was not aware of it, he was, of sorts. Simply, like the actual length of time that had passed since he'd sat beneath the tree with Vlad, the last time he'd been touched so comfortingly seemed so dreadfully long ago, and now he could not help but indulge in it. Strangely—or not so strangely, to each his own—Vlad's touch felt so amazingly familiar to his mother's, or his sister's, and it was so consolingly familiar the words slipped easily from his mouth. "Dash and his friends."  
>Vlad's thick brow came together. "Dash? The boy I've seen picking on you?"<p>

"Yes."

"What were you doing with him?" Vlad said, alarm ringing out in his voice like the toll of a fire-station bell when this or that has caught ablaze.

"Nothing," Danny said softly, paused, and then seemed to reconsider, but he looked very far-gone, an almost intoxicated quality about him. "Well, I was coming back from the mall and I saw them smoking behind the school."

Vlad's eyes grew very wide; his face paled considerably at the wounds of possibility this softly uttered statement gouged open. In that same serious tone, now mingled with rapidly increasing concern, he said slowly to the child, "What did they say to you?"

"They asked if I wanted one," he said gently, staring up into Vlad's widened eyes with shimmering wet ones of his own.

After a long, horror-struck pause—one that resembled a monster movie in which the hero knows the creature lurks behind him but is too terrified to turn around in order to confirm it—Vlad forced the lump that sat in his throat back down and said slowly, hardly able to formulate the words, sure his own lack of competence had gotten this child—the child he still loved with an undying passion even after the events of the last few days had unfolded and still played out in his mind—addicted to cigarettes, "And what did you say, Danny?"

"I said no," Danny said slowly, and nodded slightly as if he was very impressed by himself or his own actions.

The breath Vlad had been holding in released in a long sigh, one that follows a heart-stopping practical joke and the person who is pranked realizes what has happened. "Oh thank god," he said, and released Danny's face as he had his hands so he could hold his own chest now, as if unable to breathe.

"They said I should take one for tomorrow. They said I'd need it, and tried to give it to me, but I ran away before they could," Danny said with little emotional drive, watching Vlad as he sat across from him, looking winded.

Vlad regarded him for a long while, his mind racing frantically with all of those _what ifs _that invade a parent's mind when they learn something unspeakable has happened to their child. _Rage_, but not without prevailingly strong confusion, and a desire that was beginning to sprout from the seeds of these oh-so-human emotions, showed clearly on his pale face. It became apparent that he was not in fact observing the boy, but rather using the boy's face as a portal in which his mind could enter and get lost in a parade of hatred.

No, he was not there, and Danny stared at him, his head slightly tilted, eyes wide and beginning to flood with cold fear, for the warmth of Vlad's previous comfort was fading, and _rapidly_, drawing him back into the pathetic reality of his life in which there was no comfort and only undiluted pain.

A moment or so later, Vlad stood from his chair, his gaze having refocused as he returned to Danny's pigshit reality with a look of cool, hate-stirred determination plastered onto his face. He turned to stare at the frightened boy as a soft, almost psychotic smile began tugging at the corners of his lips when the pieces of the man's newest and most urgent—or so it seemed then, always would in the heat of the moment—intent fell neatly into the puzzle board that was his mind.

"Go up to your room, my sweet little badger, and lay down. I'm going to take care of things for you. For _us_," he said, his voice soft and distant, as if carried in from somewhere outside by a gentle breeze.

Danny's eyes widened further from the fear evoked swiftly by the eeriness this statement was so able to draw, his bottom lip quivering lightly. _Is he going to…?_

Vlad took Danny's face in his hands again and pressed a rough kiss squarely onto his forehead, causing the teenager's face to twist into a grimace and a soft grunt to escape his lips. The man took no notice as he pulled away and went to the front door.

"Go lay down, little badger. I'll be home soon, and then we'll talk. I promise."

With this, the now seemingly-deranged man left Fenton Works; Danny watched from the window as he transformed into Vlad Plasmius and took to the skies, off to who knew where to do who knew what.

* * *

><p>AN:

I hope you liked the chapter, and please review.

~DM/P or VC


	25. Chapter 25

"Danny?" the voice came softly, protruding into the sanctity of his drugged sleep like a pair of warm hands, gently easing him into the world of consciousness once again. "Danny, I'm home."

Groaning, the dark-haired boy slowly pulled open his eyes to stare up at the ghost who stood over him, his cape flapping delicately in the breeze that blew in from his open window. His red eyes glowed warmly in the darkness of his bedroom, and when Danny Fenton's vision—or perhaps the fog that had fallen over his mind—cleared, he was briefly very alarmed, feeling as though he'd woken in the midst of some R-rated horror movie and was about to be the victim of some ungodly monster…and maybe he was, but his memory, one which always eluded him when sleep came in great amounts, returned, and the fear left.

"Vlad?" Danny asked quietly, his voice roughened by his long sleep. "Where'd you go?"

In the darkness of the bedroom, the boy could just make out a gentle smirk as it appeared on the man's pale blue lips. The eyes seemed to narrow slightly, the eyebrows turning down and coming together in a point. Danny could see the lip and nose twitch, as if in disgust, very briefly, as the man reached out one cold gloved hand, one which was covered in some sticky and warm substance, and caressed his face gently.

"That's nothing you need to worry about, my little badger. How was your nap?"

Danny immediately cringed away from Vlad's hand, his face twisting in a grimace of disgust of its own, pushing himself weakly against the headboard of his bed as he sat up slightly so as to escape the sickly substance that now decorated his right cheek.

"W-what is that?" he choked out, wiping his cheek on the back of his hand quickly. "What's on your hand?"

"Oh, nothing, my boy," Vlad said easily, and Danny could hear vaguely the sound of this _nothing _being wiped off of the man's hands and into a cloth. "Now, how was your nap?"

"Fine," Danny replied uneasily, pushing himself further up from the mattress of the bed. He reached over blindly and began to feel for the cord of his lamp, brushing the picture frame he kept there—this one of he and Jazz when they'd been a little younger, she just entering high-school and he still in seventh grade—followed by the supposedly incredibly expensive glass box that Sam had accidentally broken and had given to him so her parents wouldn't find it. Before getting into bed, he'd put his earrings, which were simply too sharp to leave in if you were planning to lie down, inside it, because it was relatively intact—it was only chipped, but Sam argued that her parents would refuse to use it if they saw the small defect.

"What is it supposed to be used _for_?" Danny remembered asking, staring at the thing in disbelief.

"When you're rich, Danny," Sam said, smiling at him in that resentful way she seemed to adapt when she thought of her parents' fortune, "there's usually a lot of this crap laying around your house, and it doesn't have any purpose other than to collect dust."

Danny's darting hand inadvertently knocked the small crystal object from the surface of the table, and the boy sucked in a tight gasp. His mind began to race as the idea that the last thing he had that Sam had touched might lie on the ground in a thousand pieces surfaced, and as if fueled by this foresight, his hand shot out immediately to catch it. However, in the darkness, his fingers did not come close to skimming the box's cut-glass surface, and it seemed that if he had, in fact, known the box's exact trajectory, he still would have been unable to catch it, for his hand was not remotely quick enough.

However, Vlad's _was_.

The light of his lamp came on and Danny grunted, his eyelids slamming shut as the warm glow pierced the veil of darkness that hung over his eyes. He heard the sound of his earrings being dropped back into the crystal box, that recognizable noise of metal tinkling against glass, followed by that of the lid being fitted into the box's base once again.

"My, isn't this pretty?" he heard Vlad remark softly. "Did this belong to Jasmine?"

With some difficulty, the boy managed to pull his eyes back open slowly, grunting again as they began to adjust to the light that now flooded them. Though his vision was blurred, he could just make out Vlad's tall, slender figure; one of the man's hands was clasped formally behind his back, the other, cupping the glass dish, intact. He was smirking softly, but his face remained very calm and, incredibly, void of any emotion…just as his had appeared as he'd held the gun to the man's head.

Immediately, Danny Fenton saw the blood that coated Vlad Plasmius' once silver suit and dripped down his face in streams, pooling in the folds of his cape. His black gloves, now red, despite the fact that the man had attempted to cleanse his hands of the substance.

Danny stared at him with wide, glistening eyes, his face paling significantly, his mouth falling open slightly. After a small moment of silence, he tried softly, "You…" Ultimately, however, he was unable to finish his sentence; perhaps this was due to the overwhelming sense of fear that had engulfed him and his speech or simply because he was at a loss for words, but he could say nothing else as Vlad tapped the side of his nose with one bloody finger in a secretive manner, smiling knowingly, and placed the glass box into his hands which lie limply in his lap. Then, the man turned and started for the door.

"I'm going to go heat up your dinner now. I'll be up with it in a moment, and while you eat we can talk. All right?"

And without waiting for an answer, Vlad Plasmius left the bedroom without bothering to open the door. Instead, he simply phased through it.


	26. Chapter 26

Not fifteen minutes later, Vlad sat at the end of Danny's bed, watching the boy slowly stuff soggy pizza into his mouth with the quality of one who knows something must be done but would give anything to curl up in bed and fall into a deep and forgiving sleep. The boy's face was pale aside from a soft flush that had risen on his cheeks after Vlad had turned up the heat a bit, and his eyes were very tired—every feature of Danny Fenton's face seemed to droop in exhaustion which attributed to both mental and physical aspects, but one would not have guessed in a lifetime that the boy's mind was racing as it was.

Of course, the boy was not ignorant to what Vlad had gone out and done when he'd left over three hours ago—though he'd never asked Vlad, and the man had never clarified a thing to him, Danny already knew, and because he did not think he would be able to bring himself to do so, he would never request to be told otherwise. In fact, the moment he'd seen the blood that coated Vlad Plasmius' once stunningly white uniform, he'd known exactly what the man had done as he slept the unnatural sleep of drugs, one he'd put himself into with the knowledge that Vlad would be very upset with him if he did not do as he was told and frankly too tired, as he was now, to evoke the man's wrath. Rather, by lying down and going to sleep like a good little badger, he was keeping what little peace had grown between them in the past few days, and though he knew it was wrong, and it frankly made him feel very sickened to do so, it was also very _safe_. That _was _what was important, _wasn't_ it?

Not if it meant jeopardizing an innocent person's life, it wasn't, but he was instilled with a knowledge that was becoming increasingly alarming to him—even if he had wanted to disobey Vlad Masters now, what could he do to save the bullies who had offered him a single puff on their cigarette against the man's power? Of course, it was not as if he'd ever possessed more strength than Vlad, but now there seemed to be a shift in his attitude, one that, like his fear, was becoming increasingly larger—more noticeable, that was. It seemed that before the accident that had destroyed his life, Vlad Masters/Plasmius approached his encounters with Daniel with an openness that was as unhidden as this ever-changing outlook. In fact, Vlad Plasmius had seemed to advertise that while he might have engaged in a quest for Maddie's love and Daniel's affection/servitude, he was also very amenable when it came to the events that surrounded his presence and the effect they would have on that over-all goal. For example, take Danny's and his mother's refusal to remain with him at his home in the Rockies. While he had, of course, sought to take them _both _in upon first luring them there, Danny's attitude, coupled with the fact that it seemed Maddie's decision was based solely on how the boy felt, rendered his death essential. Now, however, it was apparent to Danny that Vlad's goals had become very clear-cut, rather inflexible, as the emotional and physical tolls of the past day's events loomed heavy, and that playfulness, that, "I'm just going to wing this thing and see how it turns out" seemed to fade swiftly. Now, it seemed that Vlad Masters was a shadow of that former manipulative, game-obsessed man he had once been—now, he would do what he had to in order to get what he could, and he would chance nothing. If this meant he had to kill Dash in order to keep his little badger—the only thing that kept him bound to this world any longer—healthy and cancer-free, he would; he would not wait to see how Danny would respond, or how the jock might try to persuade him again in order to formulate more useless and tiring plans.

But this was not so alarming as the greater knowledge that loomed over him like a shadow of one whose intent is very ill, like a rapist showing his candy to a little unsuspecting girl—it was just now that the small teenager seemed to realize that he was now forever bound to Vlad in this sense.

In the end, Danny Fenton knew what Vlad really wanted, no matter how he once might have teased and toyed, played pawn after pawn, time and time again—what he _really _wanted, of course, was the perfect half-ghost son, and it was becoming ever-apparent that since Vlad had lost his lust for the thrill of the chase, any chance he'd had of escape—perhaps, ultimately, in death, for flexible Vlad held power over him of leagues unimaginable—had been lost with it. For despite the fact that Vlad had not once claimed, or simply attempted to treat him as if it were true, that he'd achieved his ultimate goal—and this was a great reassurance to Danny, like a beacon in the blackness of the night—the boy was still overcome with the notion that the death of his family and best friends had indeed condemned him to a life at Vlad's side, one in which the man's control over him would steadily grow stronger as time dragged on. Though he was lenient now, Danny was not ignorant to the fact that in a month, or perhaps sooner, Vlad would be setting his curfew and regulating what he watched on the television and sifting through any new friends he made for deadbeats. Because no matter how inappropriate the time may be, Vlad was not above using this as an excuse to take what he thought so rightfully belonged to him, and no matter how much lust for the chase he'd lost, he had not dismissed his tactfulness, for he was now carefully drawing the boy in closer—no tricks, no distractions. And Danny Fenton would soon come to realize that when the man truly applied himself, there was so much he could accomplish; soon, Danny thought with great certainty, his life would belong solely to the man.

But the boy could not help but wonder distantly, his mind racing without cease as he ate the pizza Vlad set in front of him like a good son, _Does it _already_?_ However, he would not venture, because he was terrified of what he might find at the end of his quest for knowledge, and as is said so often, ignorance is bliss.

Vlad (Masters now) had cleaned the blood from his body and changed into some spare clothes he'd packed in a small suitcase—a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, formal jeans and socks. Much to Danny's surprise—though it was almost unnoticeable compared to every other emotion rushing through his head—Vlad had released his slivery hair from its normal plait. His legs were folded, his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands as he stared at Danny with eyes that were so uncharacteristically loving despite their great undertones of sadness, and among these there was unmistakable possessiveness. He was smiling a bit. "I'm happy to see you eating, Daniel," he said softly. "I was growing very worried, you see."

To this, the boy said nothing, and staring down at his plate piled high with greasy slices of pizza, he continued to eat.

Vlad paused a small moment in anticipation of a response, but when he was met without one he continued, attempting to keep his voice very gentle because he was not lost to the fact that Daniel was terrified, "Unfortunately, however, we have much work to do if we are to get you at a healthy weight again."

There was a pause as the boy worked up the courage to add meagerly, "I'm not that thin."

"Oh, Daniel," Vlad said softly, regarding Danny with sympathetic eyes, his mouth now turned down in a frown. "You really can't afford to diminish this. It's very serious, and until you gain a few pounds, I won't regard you as anything other than sickly."

"So you're fattening me up? Is that what you're getting at?" the boy asked softly, still unable to face the man, especially now that Vlad had introduced this horrid idea to him. The man might tell him not to diminish his illness, or whatever this was, but _he _was certainly diminishing his newest plan, addressing it as if it were as simple as buying a new t-shirt, throwing information in his direction as if to distract him from the bittersweet truth that he planned to stuff him like the boy in that old fairytale that sends chills up the spines of kindergarteners everywhere. But the image the evocation of this fairytale created sent chills up _his _spine as well, and it was so vivid that he thought he could practically reach out and feel the steam as it wafted out of vents cut into the crust of the pie Witch Vlad stuffed into his forcibly open mouth. His own face was turning a sickly green, and his eyes appeared to struggle to keep from rolling back in his head. He had a large belly on him now (or what he considered to be large but was only about the size of Valerie's, and she did not weigh much more than himself).

Nevertheless, it made him set the piece of pizza he'd been nibbling on down.

"Well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way but…" Vlad paused a moment, and then, staring at him intently, as if reading his mind, he said, "but that is rather unpleasant. It makes me sound like the witch of Hansel and Gretel."

Danny did not respond, rather unnerved at Vlad's intuition at his thoughts, once again grimly reminded of the power he possessed and the idea that he would never be free from it, doomed to spend the rest of his life at the man's side, and he was only fourteen. He pushed the plate of pizza away and stood up from the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Vlad said immediately, and likewise stood, regarding him with questioning eyes, the compassion in each cooling swiftly.

"A walk," the boy said quietly, his voice rising just barely above a whisper.

"Danny," Vlad said, and reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We need to talk."

"Tomorrow," the boy said, shrugging the hand off and advancing to the door.

"Danny—"

"_Please_," the boy said, gazing at the man with eyes that were beseeching, desperately so, and with one simple look into those eyes the man was instilled with the knowledge that the boy was currently so unstable it would really do no good to attempt to reason with him now.

So he said softly, although he was very disappointed, and no-longer-surprisingly saddened, though two weeks ago one might think the man impossible of feeling such an emotion, "All right, Danny. That's fine. But will you please be back in forty-five minutes? An hour at most?"

"Why?"

"We have to prepare for the service tomorrow, Daniel," Vlad said, and his expression grew further saddened.

"I'm not going," Danny said softly, and gripped the knob of his door.

"What? Why ever not?" came Vlad's suddenly alarmed voice, and without turning to face him, Danny replied,

"In an hour."

With this, he walked out, consuming Vlad Masters in suffocating silence.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hey, everyone.

So, I am very sick, and this chapter was not easy, considering I've had snot dripping out my nose and one of my teeth tingling for absolutely no reason whatsoever, dry hands and frostbitten toes because it snowed on Thanksgiving. UGH! Needless to say this was not the easiest update, but I hope it is better than the last, although I had written it in a period of sickness also.

Well, as always, please review, and hang in here with me. It will get better as chapters increase.

Whatever you do, damn you, don't get sick.

~DM/P


	27. Chapter 27

He walked slowly, purposelessly—using that small transitional period to buy as much time as he could as he roamed Amity's now completely desolate streets, void of people who'd been driven in by that cold—at least this is what he assumed, as he was _cold_—but more likely the late hours of the night; after all, if he recalled correctly it was approaching midnight when he'd left, and the normal person would be by now nestled safely in their beds, sound asleep. He, on the other hand, had an hour and intended to use it, maybe solely to buy time, yes, but there was no denying that he found this time to be cool, liberating freedom, away from Vlad's commanding hand, perhaps some of the last he'd ever experience, especially considering the next day's _exciting _events and their journey to Wisconsin thereafter; in his mind, he was certain with one-hundred-percent clarity that once he left Amity, he too left his freedom, and became that possession to Vlad, so desperately craved for years since.

So like one on death row who knows their inevitable fate at the poke of a needle, Danny Phantom cherished that cold, haunting air, somehow heavy and repressive at the same time—filled with energy, _presence_ that was not lost on him. And internally he became chilled, and like clockwork, he was instilled not five minutes into the walk to get back to the house, to get back to Vlad. From needing nothing more than to get away, now he internally he longed to have the man greet him at the door and take him into his strong, comforting arms, and tuck him into bed, not leaving until he was fast and securely asleep. He'd make sure the windows were locked—make sure nothing could get in, or out. He'd chase away monsters and divert the focus—Vlad Masters could make the reality flee, and he longed for this more than anything. Maybe, just maybe, that was what he needed—someone to put down restraints, to suck the freedom from his life like sand to a vacuum cleaner. It was abrupt, and sometimes harsh, but it was measured, structured, constant—reliable and it was comforting, therefore. Maybe he need that; after all, it wasn't like anything in his life was constant with his previous way of living after the accident, so why should he freedom be exempted from this? Why not throw that lifestyle out with the corpses of his mother and father, his sister and friends, sad lonely teacher? After all, they'd go in the ground tomorrow—why not bury his freedom with them?

His feuding brain bought him much time away from the man—after all, it took him nearly a half hour before he finally seemed to sadly conclude that either way, it did not matter; that either way, Vlad would still take control of him and proceed to shape him into an obedient, half ghost son. It didn't matter what he did or didn't do to prevent that, because in truth there simply was no _preventing _it. It, like his loved ones' deaths the minute he picked up the answer booklet to the test, was inevitable.

So when he came to Dash Baxter's unconscious, half-dead body laying sprawled near a garbage can in an alley near Casper High, he thought nothing of it. He stepped over the body and began walking back to his home, scolding himself for the huge waste of time this little trip had been, for not only was he tired but he was saddened by this realization—no, not saddened, _perplexed_, because his emotions were not clearly printed out before him like ink on paper. In fact he could not tell how he felt about this except that he knew he should never allowed himself this much time to think; thinking was dangerous, wearing like saliva upon a saltlick. It would be better just to trust in Vlad and relinquish any free thoughts—to think what he thought and nothing more. It would be easier that way.

Like an inmate on death row, it would be easier to forget the blessings of life and just give into that beautiful silver needle, to let it drag one down into a deep, peaceful, monotonous sleep. Free will would equal pain; obedience would dispel the task more quickly.

He could have thoughtfully pondered in that hour, the last of his freedom, but he would not; he would not let himself. As if triggered by Dash's unconscious form, the half-ghost child walked mindlessly back to the house, like a robot being ordered home by a press of a button by its master; the sight of his former classmate had called him in, to the house, to Vlad's world where there was no reasonable logic, where it was okay to murder a stupid sixteen-year-old jock, and where most of all it was okay to accept a new father after yours was destroyed in a tragic explosion.

He had checked out of the human world—was done for the night. He wanted to sleep.

~000~

And he would. With a freshly shut down brain, Danny returned to the house, where Vlad was sitting in the armchair near the door, once Jazz's favorite, trying to read a book in his hands but his attention drifting to Daniel and his whereabouts. Just as he had begun to drift into the realm of the book, the door opened quietly and he jumped. Danny entered, his face pale and his eyes rimmed with dark circles; like before, everything on that boy sagged and drooped with fatigue. In the dictionary, he would have fallen beneath exhaustion as the first reference.

Vlad closed his book quickly and stood up, smiling with relief at seeing the child safely returned to him, and—with a quick glance at the clock—a half hour early. The man purred and took Danny into his arms, placating him—this was what he wanted, wasn't it?—as he embraced him with that strong and protective hold of his. But Danny was not present here any longer and was not guilty for the comfort he took from this, and he relaxed into Vlad's arms, intent on falling asleep right then and there; Vlad could deal with him once he was unconscious—could check the windows to make sure the seal was tight so no demons or spirits would enter and drag him back to the cold world of reasoning. He took comfort in this thought.

And watching as the boy dozed off in his arms, Vlad decided their talk could wait until the next morning. It could wait. Longer than he'd originally intended. Until after the funeral. Until after the funeral had passed, because perhaps they wouldn't go. It could wait.

Perhaps they didn't need those little closure type things after all.

Vlad smiled down at his little badger and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Danny," he said, and the boy closed his eyes, and left the further world all together.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hi, yes it's this girly back again. I'm tripping right now.

I feel really bad it's been so long-a year ago today, I think. WOW. So I want to get this story going again with its stupid, crazy, yet somehow heartwrenching slowness. Ah yes, the pace of a turtle. 27 chapters and they're still in Amity Park. lol life the universe and bub.

So I'll keep plugging away. Hopefully they'll be out of the parkly place within two chapters, maybe three, and those should come soon, expect them in the next couple weeks, as well as updates for my other storiiiiiiiiiies wow I'm so grossed out right now do you know there's these things called human bot flies and they basically lay eggs on you burrow into your skin and then a maggot crawls out 8 weeks later? oh shit Im getting chills omg...

0o0 (my face imagining a maggot in my skin) Help me. also please tell me what you thoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhh gross!

~ILIKETROLLDOLLSANDJESUS


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